Second Time Around
by LMS5XP
Summary: Peter leaves right after his encounter with Leo in the pub's kitchen. Story departs from canon at same time. Usual disclaimers in place. We suspend our disbelief, and we are entertained.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

 _ **1: Love Lies Bleeding**_

"I'm on a hiding to nothing, wouldn't you say, Father?"

"What's that?"  
"Am I on a hiding to nothing?"

"What are we talking about here, Leo?"

"Ah, Come on here, Father. I ask you 'cause I think you're the man in the know," Leo stated with his voice taking on a note of menace.

"Sorry, I'm in the dark"

"I don't think that's quite true though, is it. I think you know what I'm asking.

Peter said nothing, then, "I don't"

"I think I'm on a hiding to nothing unless you say otherwise." Leo asked again, this time with a tone laced with open hostility.

Nothing.

"Last chance, Father," Leo added ominously, and with that, Leo left the kitchen and a bewildered Peter holding a now calm Kieran. Father Peter Clifford's already shaky world crumbled around him as his brain processed the dreadful algebra of Leo's accusation. He stared at the door Leo closed behind him. Moments later Assumpta walked into the kitchen and saw a picture of apparent domestic bliss: Peter holding Kieran. His looking so comfortable in a parental role prompted her to remark "You're a natural." When he turned to look at her, Assumpta's whole demeanor changed. Peter shifted his gaze between her and the door Leo had so recently departed through, as though physically connecting Leo's accusation with the woman standing before him. Assumpta couldn't help but notice Peter's extreme discomfort and the "thousand yard stare" in his eyes. Something very profound and upsetting had just happened between Leo and Peter, that much was obvious.

For years now, both Assumpta and Peter had been suffering in their own private hells of frustration, longing, and unrequited love, secure at least in the belief, that their suffering went unnoticed by their friends and neighbors, if not to each other. Leo, however, was a reporter by trade, and his journalistic instincts started quivering and sending signals that all was not well almost as soon as he arrived in town with his bride. Truth be told, he had suspected Assumpta's attentions were focused on the curate as long ago as when he was in town for the election. At that time he regarded the situation with a mild sense of amusement, now, however, the humor was entirely lost on him. This latest development was particularly distressing for Peter, for he had been found out.

The next few days for Peter were spent in constant meditation and prayer. He had a very big problem on his hands, two big problems, actually. He had returned from retreat with confidence in the hope he would be better able to manage his feelings for Assumpta, but Niamh's bombshell announcement of Assumpta's marriage to Leo threw him out of the ring before the opening bell. His carefully revitalized vocation suffered a mortal blow in its very first test. Every minute of his day dragged on, and each was more painful than the one before. Emptiness, that was the word, emptiness filled his days. He thought things could not get any worse, but then Assumpta and Leo returned to Ballykissangel and he was proved wrong yet again.

Up until then, Assumpta's marriage existed just in the abstract, but now there was visible, tangible proof. Just looking at her caused him pain, so he simply decided he would not look at her. Bravely, he tried to carry on in spite of his personal feelings, desperately trying to convince himself his sufferings were somehow noble. But matters continued their increasingly downward and ever deepening spiral. During the Battle of the Bars he thought he hit rock bottom when Aisling from McLogan's team sang the lament _**Love Is Pleasing**_ , almost custom tailored to pour salt in his emotional wounds. While he may have hit rock bottom, the jackhammers and blasting teams were moving in, and there was yet more misery in store for the curate. Sleep, already problematic, became a new source of torture as his subconscious demons ran riot in the small snatches of sleep he was able to catch.

It was during the fracas over Assumpta's women's group that he really felt his grip on the situation begin to fail completely. Prayer was his only solace, but even that proved elusive, and when Assumpta followed him into St. Joseph's one night she asked if he wanted to talk about what was wearing him down. Surely she must have known that she was the true source of his anguish, yet here she was glibly wondering if he wanted to talk about it. The nerve of it. He lashed out with the cryptic accusation 'you put ideas into people's heads'. He then personalized it by forcefully repeating it. He had hoped she understood his meaning. She seemed to understand what he was implying, but words of reply and comfort wouldn't come. And then she paused on her way out of the church with the statement 'You can tell anything to a friend'. 'Oh death, where is thy sting', Peter thought. What could he possibly tell her that wouldn't make things much worse? What good would the truth do now? As a great believer in the truth, this shook Peter to the core.

Peter thought back to when this firestorm of personal crises began. He couldn't put his finger on the exact moment, but it had clearly been going on for some time now. In his turbulent emotional state he was incapable of clear and rational thought, which only further stoked the fires of doubt and uncertainty. More than a year of tension, frustration, innuendo, and longing finally reached Point Break as he held her hand in his car on a frosty night. The whirlwind of emotion that little episode touched off ultimately sent him on retreat and her to London and into the arms of Leo McGarvey. This was Mutually Assured Destruction of the Old School type and metaphorically speaking, the missiles were in the air.

Seeing that his vocation was collapsing due to the presence of the newlyweds, he decided that he would have to avoid all contact with Assumpta and the pub, but that was proving to be neither possible or feasible. He knew his time in Ballykissangel was coming to a close, and very soon. Staying in town would lead to madness, and now this latest set-to with Leo clinched it. It was abundantly clear that Peter had come between a husband and his wife, something the priest in him could not, under any circumstances tolerate. And since he was a priest, he felt he had to sacrifice himself for Assumpta's happiness, if not his own sanity. Once again he had to remove himself from the picture. This was not the lifestyle of a priest, and certainly not what he had signed up for. His brain was so addled by the conflict that he couldn't see the rich irony that he was as much an architect of his torture as she was. So with heavy heart and no little trepidation he picked up the phone.

"Father MacAnally, I need to speak with you, it is urgent. Yes, I'll be there right away."


	2. Chapter 2

_**2: Into The Fire**_

Father MacAnally put down the receiver and pondered this latest development. If his surmises were correct, it was not unexpected. He knew it was only a matter of time for the situation in Ballykissangel between his curate and the publican to boil over, and now apparently it had. He sat awaiting Father Clifford for what he hoped was the last time. He had tried to shift his rebellious curate two years ago, but was thwarted by public opinion, led by none other than Assumpta Fitzgerald. This time, his case was sure to be iron clad.

Peter arrived at the Parish house and was promptly shown in to Father MacAnally's office. One look at Peter told Father Mac all he needed to know, but he decided to let his curate twist for a bit.

"What can I do for you Father Clifford, or would you prefer I guess?"

"I request a transfer away from Ballykissangel as soon as possible."

This took him a little by surprise. Last time there was resistance. "And why is that?"

"I feel I am no longer able to fully execute my duties, and that my parishioners would have their needs better served by a new priest."

"And why is that?"

Peter sat uncomfortably fidgeting in the chair. He could tell by the tone of the older man's voice that Father Mac was enjoying this, and was going to make him squirm. Peter wasn't about to give him the satisfaction, so decided the "elastoplaster gambit" would take the old bastard by surprise. Let's get this done quickly, he thought.

"I feel I am a destabilizing influence in the village, and for the greater good feel my presence would be better served elsewhere. I would appreciate your help in this matter, and quick action too."

"Having a latent attack of conscience, are we, Father?" sneered the older priest.

"Could we please conduct this like the men of God we are? Like I said, I came here for your help. I can do without nasty attitude for once. Let he who is without sin toss the first stone."

"Father Clifford! You are overestimating your…," Father Mac began sharply, but then thought that quick and discreet action would be the best for his curate, the Church, and also himself. He softened his tone, and said conversationally, "Oh, very well, I agree completely and appreciate your candor. Finally, you are going to do the right thing. It is a pity that you waited so long. Had you accepted a transfer a few months ago, then we all could have been spared this unpleasantness, and a huge waste of time. I will make some calls, these things take a little time, but be ready to go on a moment's notice. None of this is really a big surprise, and I did try to protect you from it, but I see that you are beyond my help. However, I am not completely heartless, no matter what you think. In the interests of discretion, I think we will be well advised to state other reasons for your sudden departure"

"Be economical with the truth" Peter mumbled, recalling earlier days.

"What? Since you only recently returned from retreat, that option is not available. The simplest reason is a family emergency which requires your immediate presence. You are to say only that, and make no mention of a transfer, that will come with time. It is a deception, I know, but one that is necessary for, as you say, the greater good. Specifically, I would strongly advise against any contact with Mrs. McGarvey. If you deviate from my instructions, the whole story will come out and you can expect no mercy from me. That will be detrimental to you as well as both McGarvey's, think about that, Father. Goodbye, Father Clifford, and stand by your phone for further orders."

Peter did not have long to wait. By the time he got back to Ballykissangel his mobile rang. To his surprise it was not Father MacAnally, but his brother James.

After his conversation with James, Peter rang back to Father MacAnally and informed him that his mother was terminally ill and that he was leaving for Manchester immediately and that there was no need to rush the transfer. Father Mac agreed to his immediate departure and was genuinely conciliatory, wished him Godspeed, asked him to keep in touch, and they would resolve this matter at a more appropriate time in the future. As he hung up the phone with Peter, he dialed another number.

"Good evening, may I speak with His Grace, please? Father MacAnally in Cilldargin calling…"


	3. Chapter 3

_**3: Lonely Is The Night**_

(Thursday, Approximately a year later)

Assumpta was cleaning behind the bar, as Brendan, and Padraig sat in their usual places at the bar. The radio nattered away as closing time approached."

"Come on, finish up. I'm about done for the night."

"Oh just one more pint please, Assumpta. Its…"

"Shh!" Assumpta hissed. "Did you hear that? What did he just say?"

"Who?"

"Shh! Listen!"

She turned up the volume on the radio "…are still unaccounted for. The _Estrellita_ was enroute from Ponta DelGada, Azores to Liverpool, when she started taking on water and sank with twelve persons on board Tuesday, 400 miles Southwest of Cape Clear. High seas and rain squalls have hampered rescue and recovery operations. A Royal Fisheries Patrol vessel has been on scene for sixteen hours and will suspend the search at noon tomorrow. There has been a moderate amount of traffic in the area, and it is possible a rescue has been effected by another vessel, but so far, nothing has been heard. In other news…"

Assumpta was pale, visibly shaken, and gasping for breath. "I could swear he said that one of the names he just said was Peter Clifford. You don't think it could be…Oh God! It can't be, just can't be. I couldn't hear whether he was rescued or among the missing."

"Peter Clifford? Are you sure? No, you must have misheard or else there is another Peter Clifford, anyway, what would Father Peter be doing on a boat in the Atlantic? The story is bound to be in the newspaper tomorrow. Don't get yourself all worked up for nothing."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Goodnight, Brendan, goodnight, Padraig." And with that Assumpta closed and locked the door, alone again for the long watches of the night with just her thoughts to keep her company. It was to prove a restive night.

Sleep would not come and Assumpta could not just let things be. She searched the internet and quickly found what she was looking for, and also what she was dreading. Two life rafts with ten people between them had been rescued, one by a containership bound for Rotterdam, and another by _HMS Iona,_ a Royal Fisheries Patrol vessel. However, two people were still missing from the sunken ship, the Engineer, a Scot by the name of David Gordon and a Catholic priest, Father Peter Clifford, a supernumerary from Salford. Assumpta gave an involuntary shiver and felt sick to her stomach. There seemed little doubt as to which Peter Clifford was missing at sea. The world had suddenly become a much lonelier place. It had been over a year since she had last seen Peter, and less than a minute since she had last thought of him. By her own admission, Peter had constantly surprised her with his actions, but she could't for the life of her explain why he was on that ship in the first place.

Assumpta's marriage to Leo had fallen completely apart about the time Peter left Ballykissangel, and the annulment was finalized three or four months after that. The last thing she knew about Peter was that his mother was sick and probably dying when he left (she herself was away from town at that time as well.) Word had come back that Peter's mother had passed away and although he was supposed to return, he never did. Within two weeks of Peter's departure Father MacAnally had sported a smug look of victory when a priest arrived to take up the post as interim curate.

Now she found out Peter was missing, presumed lost in the Atlantic Ocean. She couldn't help but link the two events; somehow Father Mac was the reason Peter was on that ship. Not surprisingly, her resentment and distrust of the Parish Priest only deepened.

Around four a.m. she gave up on trying to sleep and turned on the radio:

" _I'm going crazy, I'm losing sleep_

 _I'm in too far, I'm in way too deep_

 _Over you_

 _I can't believe you're gone_

 _You were the first, you'll be the last"_

Bad idea. She promptly turned off the radio and began to wonder if God had it in for her.

The next day, the town of Ballykissangel was abuzz with speculation about their long-departed and now sadly missing curate. The morning news had a link with _HMS Iona_ and an interview with Captain Chilton, late of the motor vessel _Estrellita:_

"Late Tuesday night we were about 400 miles from Fastnet Rock when the engine failed. The engineers had just got it going again when a squall hit us with hurricane force winds and seas over ten meters high. We were coping with it fine, but a huge sea boarded the vessel ,, destroyed the lifeboat, and tore a hatch cover loose. Then we lost power again, came around beam to the seas, and that was it. Seas started constantly sweeping the deck. We launched the rafts, the mate and five men got away in the first raft. Two men, the engineer David Gordon, his assistant and a supernumerary (a priest, Father Peter Clifford), and myself were to take the second raft. Father Clifford had been helping the engineers get the plant (engine) running earlier, but when the order to abandon ship came he went back down below to get the engineers up on deck. Just as the three men made it to the deck, the ship rolled over onto the raft and we were all thrown into the sea. We were able to clear the raft from the wreckage. The assistant was first out and eventually got to the raft but we could see no sign of David Gordon or Father Clifford. The wind quickly blew us clear and the ship went down. It was all over in a matter of minutes. It was very dark, visibility was very bad. We could sometimes see the other raft, but were unable to maneuver our raft to meet up with them Luckily we had an EPIRB, an Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon, so _Iona_ found us fairly quickly. We only had to spend about 12 hours in the raft and we were all wearing survival suits. The worst squalls were short-lived but the wind has stayed at force eight with rain squalls for over two days now."

"What was the priest, doing on the ship? And why was he in the engine room?"

"He was the cargo owner's representative. Normally, that would be handled by someone in the discharge port, or someone would fly in, but he wanted to experience a sea voyage. We were delivering good will cargo to ports in Africa, and returning with a load of coffee beans, but were diverted to the Azores to pick up a parcel of cargo for Liverpool. Father Peter was a very pleasant man, in a preoccupied sort of way. He was very interested in the ship. I had been teaching him celestial navigation, and he took a keen interest in the engine. He had formed a close friendship with Mr Gordon. He kept saying he was training for a new career."

Niamh was worried about her friend, and although she had been subdued ever since her marriage failed, this latest turn of events made her a positive recluse. Niamh was determined to get to bottom of it, and so spent the morning stockpiling ammunition and enlisting reinforcements for her assault on Assumpta's considerable defenses.

That evening after Kieran went down for the night, Niamh left him with Ambrose and went over to the pub armed with a Death by Chocolate cake and two bottles of wine, Brendan took over the serving duties. Niamh practically corralled Assumpta into the kitchen.

"OK, Girl, you've been quiet for about a year now, and suddenly you're looking like someone walked over your grave. Is this about Father Clifford? I know we all liked him, but you seem to be reacting the most. Out with it."

"Go home, Niamh. Please don't talk about him in the past tense. I don't want to talk about it. He was just a friend, that's all"

"I don't believe you. I've never seen you look like this before. What is going on that we don't know about? I'm not leaving until you tell me."

"Niamh, please, if you were my friend you would do as I say"

"No Assumpta. I am your friend, and because of that I'm going to try and help you through this. Now let's have a piece of cake and talk."

"I just….I just…" Assumpta deflated. "Oh what's the difference now? For all we know Peter has left this planet. Remember when you said I always wanted what I couldn't have? Well, that was Peter, and I thought you knew how I felt about him then. I remember feeling a spark the day I met him. Right up until he said he was the new priest and the bubble burst. He woke me up that night so I could take him to a deathbed call up in the mountains. That was when things began to turn around. I don't know what it was, but something about that midnight call out. I just had this feeling that WE, as in Peter and I, were meant to be there and then, and then the snowball started rolling down the hill, clearing everything in it's path. I felt like a little school girl with a schoolgirl crush on him, only it never faded away, it just got worse. I nearly passed out during rehearsal for that play. I sensed there were times when he might have felt something for me too, but he always retreated behind the collar. I never knew for certain what he really felt. Things came real close when your father was trying to develop Cill Na Sidhe…in fact they reached a breaking point. He went on retreat and I went to London and married Leo. We were both equally miserable after that, at least I think he was, I know that I was. He certainly didn't look happy when I showed up with Leo. Poor Peter. Poor Leo."

"It was before that, if you must know. I told him you got married and although he tried to put on a brave face about it I could see he was hurting. He looked like he got the wind knocked out of him."

"Thanks, that really makes me feel better. Just when I thought I couldn't feel any worse."

"I'm not trying to hurt you Assumpta. I'm telling you how it was. Were you in love with him?"

"What do you think? Neither of us could say anything to anybody about it. We couldn't even admit it between ourselves, and what good would it do us if we could? Who would understand, much less accept it? Certainly not you. Not Ambrose. Brendan might, but again, what good would it do? I had no one I could talk to. I was all alone on this, and well and truly banjaxed. So I married Leo hoping he would, in time, drive Peter out of my head. Almost from the moment I said 'I do' I didn't, and knew it was a terrible mistake. Leo tried hard, but I guess I kept him away. He said as much. I broke his heart, maybe Peter's, and my own as well. A perfect trifecta, the whole love triangle burned to the ground. I daren't ever be involved with anyone ever again. And now Peter may very well be dead and gone, and I never even got a chance to say sorry or goodbye to him. He was my soul mate, Niamh. I truly believe that. Who would have believed an English priest would turn out to be the great love of my life. Classic, isn't it. I mean, who is writing this script?"

"Oh you poor lamb." Assumpta collapsed into Niamh's arms and cried in great heaving sobs. "I have to admit you're probably right. I suspected something was causing tension between you two, but not love: maybe a harmless infatuation. A year ago I probably wouldn't have been too forgiving, but then if you ever really talked to me, I might have had time to get used to the idea."

"I doesn't matter now, and probably never did, Niamh." Niamh could feel the desolation in her friend's voice. This was an Assumpta that very few ever saw. The fiery spirit that defied the world was cracking, and that was a little unnerving. "It just doesn't matter, and I have no idea what really does. Thanks for the cake, but I think I'll just soak in the tub and go to bed. Go home to Ambrose and Kieran. Treasure what you have, Niamh. You never know when it might get taken from you. I think this talk may actually have helped a little. Get it off my chest, and sort of out in the open. Now if only it could bring Peter back….even if it is only just to say goodbye."

Songs quoted:

Cheap Trick: _The Flame_


	4. Chapter 4

_**4: Keep Yourself Alive**_

Early on Sunday, at what even she considered an unchristian hour, (especially for someone who had barely slept since news broke of the tragedy at sea), Assumpta was awakened by someone pounding furiously on the door and shouting her name, demanding she open up. It sounded suspiciously like Niamh. A quick sniff dismissed the likelihood of a fire, the absence of sirens indicated a lack of most other major emergencies, and so Assumpta tried to recapture what little sleep she had been able to get. The pounding continued unabated, and she was glad she had bolted the door, keeping the hysterical elements of Ballykissangel safely out of doors. Her sense of civic duty kicked in eventually, and rather than have the lunatic at her door wake the whole town she got up to see what the fuss was all about. As she dragged herself down the stairs the telephone exploded into life.

"We're closed!" she yelled at the door then picked up the phone. It was Brendan.

"Assumpta! I just heard on the news that a boat docked last night in Baltimore, and supposedly brought in a man that they picked up at sea. No news on whether it is our man or not, but they found him in the right area at the right time. It's a 50-50 chance it is Peter." Brendan had long watched with a certain amused detachment the developing relationship between Peter and Assumpta. The bitter irony of the situation with attendant levels of frustration fueled endless speculation between the Fitzgerald's regulars. It was getting difficult to ignore, but no one could miss the dramatic changes in both of them upon Assumpta's return to town with a husband in tow. Peter rarely came to the pub after that, and almost never for social reasons, and Leo seemed to be the lightning rod for Assumpta's mercurial temperament. It was an Irish Gotterdamerung Opera Wagner would have been proud to have written.

"Oh my god! Really? Do you think…wait a minute I have to get the door" She opened the door and Niamh swept into the pub.

"Assumpta, have you heard the news? A man has been picked up at sea and was brought into Baltimore by a boat. I have Ambrose trying to find out more details from the Garda in Baltimore and he'll come over as soon as he knows anything more."

"That's great Niamh. Brendan was just telling me he heard it on the news too. " Then into the phone she said "Brendan, Niamh's here and Ambrose is working on finding out more. I'll call you when I know anything. Fingers crossed. Bye. And thanks" She turned to Niamh: "Let's go across and see if Ambrose has heard anything."

Ambrose was deep in conversation on the telephone, and furiously taking notes when Niamh and Assumpta got to the Gard house. He held up a hand so they would't disturb him, and continued writing.

"OK, I have that, but no positive ID on the person? How about a description? About six feet, 65-70 kilos, brown hair, angular face, green eyes, beard. OK thanks for that, its very lightweight for our man, but who knows after an ordeal like that. I'll email you a better picture of him. Please let me know as soon as you know anything more."

Ambrose hung up the phone and looked up to his wife and Assumpta. "It could be Father Clifford, he looks sort of like his driver's license photo on file, but he was unconscious when they brought him in. He was picked up by an American sailing yacht which had departed Plymouth about ten days ago. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness since they found him, and delirious when he's been awake. He's very weak, and was taken to Bantry General Hospital. That's all I know right now."

'Well, thanks for that Ambrose. I really want to believe its him. Let me know when you hear anything more."

Assumpta went back to the pub, took a shower, got dressed and started packing an extended overnight bag. When she got back downstairs a larger crowd than the usual after-mass mob had gathered outside the pub. As Fitzgerald's was one of the hubs of Ballykissangel social society, she opened up a little early as an incident room of sorts.

"How are ya doing, Assumpta?" asked Brendan. "Exciting news."

"Yeah, I guess it is." answered Assumpta, trying to play it cool.

"Planning any vacations? I hear County Cork is lovely this time of year" he added with a sly grin.

"I just might at that" she replied, and although she fought the grin, a look not unlike the famous smirk captured by Da Vinci managed to creep across her face.

"I would advise waiting for right now, this is a very serious state of affairs" added Dr. Michael Ryan. "For one thing, we're still not sure it is Peter. Whomever it is is still in casualty and unconscious, and probably not receiving visitors. I just got off the phone with Bantry General. They weren't free with details, but seeing how their recent admission was possibly a former patient of mine, I was able to get a few basic details. He was admitted early this morning in an unconscious state. He is suffering from dehydration, exposure, exhaustion, and shock, has multiple injuries and sores, and probably has ingested some fuel oil. When the boat picked him up he was also suffering from hypothermia, but his core temperature is nearly normal. All of this could easily account for the unconsciousness and delirium in the first reports, but they say evidently he was a fit man before all this happened so he was starting from a good place. I think you would be wise to let the situation stabilize for a day or so, wait for him to come around. Let the professionals do their jobs."

Brendan let out a low whistle and said "Good lord, Michael, that is quite a list of ailments. They didn't offer any prognosis, did they?"

"Not to me they didn't. They were very brief. They have their hands full with this poor fellow, and he has a full plate himself. He doesn't need any of us distracting any of his caregivers"

Assumpta was gasping for air as she listened to Doctor Ryan's grim summary of the situation. "Oh my god! You're right, you're right. Of course. It's just the waiting is the hardest part."

"Well I tell you what, Tom Petty," Brendan chimed in, "if you can give me a couple days to sort things out at school, I'll drive down to Cork with you, say Tuesday or Wednesday?. I would like to see him myself, give him a piece of my mind for disappearing without a trace. Let's hope we don't encounter any Heartbreakers. Deal?"

Assumpta could hear the care and friendliness in his voice, and it comforted her a little. She nodded and said, "I've a good mind to wring his neck myself" she added.

"That's the spirit. Now is it time yet to get a pint?"

Assumpta went to draw Bendan's pint. When she was gone Michael said to Brendan in a low voice "The real problem may still be down the road. This may very well lead to all kinds of issues in the future, emotional and otherwise. I don't know how much fuel oil he may have ingested, but that could cause all sorts of health problems. He is bound to have internal scars too, that nobody will see. Nightmares, etc."

An hour later Ambrose entered the pub with the news that the Baltimore Gard were positive the man the yacht brought in was Peter Clifford.

"They're positive?" Assumpta asked.

"Yes, it's tattooed on the back of his neck" cracked Ambrose. Ambrose being trying to be funny in a serious situation was new to Assumpta and she stared at him like he had two heads. Seeing his attempt at levity fall flat, he said "I emailed them a better picture of him than his driver's ID."

Assumpta breathed a sigh of relief. Peter was still alive. How just how safe was still a question, but he was alive, and on Irish soil again, only a few hundred miles away. With that knowledge the clouds in Assumpta's world parted just a little, and breathing became just a little easier.


	5. Chapter 5

_**5: Rolling In The Deep**_

In the end, Assumpta decided not to follow Dr. Ryan's advice, as she simply could not stay still while Peter was lying unconscious in a hospital a mere two-hundred or so miles away. She tentatively booked a room in a hotel, then went across the street to see Niamh.

"So you're going to see him?" asked Niamh, a little cooly.

"Ah, Niamh, are you going to get all judgmental on me now that he's alive? Just last night there didn't seem to be much of a problem. I have to do this, for the past few days I thought he was dead. Can't you see why I need to go there? If not, then why would I ever confide in you again? I would really like your support here, but I'm going with or without it. If he doesn't pull out of this, then I will never forgive myself for staying here. You heard what Michael said. This is very serious. I'll stay out of the way of everyone, but I've got to go in case there is anything I can do, and I want to be there when he wakes up"

"He's a priest, Assumpta!"

"It's Peter, Niamh!"

"I'm not trying to deny your feelings, but it's a dead end street. It can't work. As you yourself said last night, 'what difference will it make?' Sure you never listened to me in the past. Last night things were a bit different. You have to give me a little bit of time here, and maybe some more chocolate cake. This whole thing is just a bit too much to begin with. I mean, almost overnight I find out that you carried a torch for him for two and a half years, even while married to another man, that a year afterwards we find out he is missing, presumed dead on the ocean, then to him being rescued and in a hospital in County Cork. It is a lot to deal with in so short a time, and you heard what Michael said, why can't you wait a few days and go there with Brendan?"

"Because I just have to, Niamh. Please! I'll call you from Bantry when I know more."

Niamh wrestled with this for a minute or so before relenting and said, "OK, Assumpta. Go and good luck to you, please give our love to Peter and tell him he's in our prayers. Take as long as you need, I'll watch the pub."

"Thanks, Niamh, you're a life saver. Bye"

"Let's hope it's two lives" she mumbled to herself as Assumpta drove off into the gathering darkness.

The drive across the country was largely uneventful. Aside from a curious incident involving two scooters, a caravan, a lorry full of chickens and a lost sheep on the N25 outside of Cork City, Assumpta made good time, and arrived at the hotel a little before midnight. When she finally got to her room she collapsed onto the bed and was asleep in minutes.

The next morning Assumpta awoke very early, a bundle of nervous energy, and not at all sure in the cool light of the pre-dawn hours that she was doing the right thing. It was, as Niamh said, a bit precipitate of her to storm across the country to visit an unconscious priest. But this was not just any priest, this was Peter. After breakfast Assumpta drove to the hospital, found out visiting hours were not until after lunch, that Peter was still in Casualty and not allowed visitors outside of family. An orderly who paused briefly at the Casualty Desk had been on duty when Peter was brought in and suggested that she might productively fill her morning by driving to Baltimore and see the boat and men that rescued Peter from the sea. This seemed a good idea, so Assumpta got back in the Renault and set off for Baltimore.

It didn't take Assumpta long to find the boat she was looking for in the small harbor at Baltimore. Tied up to the jetty was a black, wooden schooner about 60 feet long, with the stars and stripes flying from a staff at the stern, with the name _Northern Light_ and under it "Marblehead, Mass" in gold letters on her transom. Three men were working on deck, wiping down the brightwork with cloths.

"Good morning. Hi, are you the men who pulled the man from the sea the other day?" she asked.

"Are you a reporter?" The man furthest aft on deck asked in reply.

"No. I'm a friend of the person that was rescued."

"Oh. Well in that case, yes, it was us that rescued him."

"I want to thank you for rescuing him. We thought we might have lost him."

"You damn near did." He paused, refocused his mind on the woman and not the varnish, and stood up. "Where are my manners? Good morning. Nah, we couldn't really leave him out there to feed the sharks, now could we? A friend of yours, is he? Well, in that case would you like to come on down and look around?" He spoke with a broad Maine accent which sounded distinctly out of place in an Irish harbor.

Assumpta climbed down a ladder and the man took her hand as she stepped onto the deck. "Welcome aboard, I'm Lynam Bunker, this is Steve Nickerson, and this is Eric Stoddard."

Assumpta shook hands with each man in turn, then introduced herself. "I'm Assumpta Fitzgerald"

She noticed the brief puzzled look the three men shared with each other.

"What did you say your name was?" Lynam asked.

"Assumpta. Assumpta Fitzgerald" she answered.

Again the men looked at each other, then Lynam spoke to the two men "do you think that is what he meant?" They both nodded noncommittally. Then back to Assumpta he said "Uh, would you like a cup of coffee or tea? Something to eat? Steve here made some wicked good gingerbread. Let's go below and talk. The press might return at any minute, and I'm about done talking to them for a while."

They gave Assumpta a brief tour of the yacht. She was built in New England in the 1920s, but had been completely restored only a few years ago. As the four were seated around the table having coffee and gingerbread in the main cabin, Bunker pointed to a bunk near the cabin coal-burning stove, and said "That is the bunk your friend stayed in. We had to strap him in to keep him from being tossed out of it, as it was quite rough, but he needed to be near the stove for warmth. He was suffering from hypothermia and shaking pretty badly, so two of us at a time had to lie in the bunk with him for warmth until his body temperature got close to normal. He was unconscious when we picked him up, but as we were strapping him down and getting him warmed up he came to for a brief moment and mumbled only one word. We all thought he was delirious and that he said 'assumption', or something like that. He was in pretty bad shape so it was hard to hear exactly what was what. It was also pretty noisy with the wind and sea, but as far as we could determine that was the word. However, I now think he was probably saying your name."

Assumpta was quite moved by this stunning revelation, but tried not to give too much away. Instead she said "if you don't mind, could you tell me how it all happened?"

"Well, we sailed over to the UK last summer , continued on to the Baltic then around Britain. When we got back to Plymouth we the laid the boat up in for the winter, and most of the crew flew back tp the states for the winter as well. Some of us flew back over about three weeks ago, spent a week getting it commissioned and tuned up for the crossing and left from Plymouth two weeks ago when the rest of us showed up. We were heading down towards the Azores to make a westing for Bermuda. Then we ran into this godawful storm about 4-500 miles from Land's End. It was blowing all of 60 knots and gusting higher, and we had to heave to and just hold on for about 12 hours. As it eased to about 30 knots we were able to get more sail up and start to make progress instead of just hanging on. After noon the next day we encountered a fair amount of debris scattered on the surface of the sea. It was still squally and rainy but suddenly James hollered out that he saw something orange in a clump of junk. We worked our way over towards it, and as we got close it looked like a body in a survival suit. It was on top of some wreckage and surrounded by enough debris that getting the schooner right in there was not safe, and if we came down on top of him it wouldn't be good for him either. The sea was too high to launch or recover the boat, so Jim tied a lifeline around himself, put on a life vest and jumped in, swam over to him, and we pulled them both back to the boat. It was a struggle to get him aboard, but somehow we managed, got Jim back aboard just as a rain squall hit and blotted everything out again. Jim got pretty chilled so we had to warm them both in the cabin. By now the wind started coming around Nor'west, so we swung off to the No'theast figuring we'd make landfall near Cape Clear. Your friend was shaking badly, retched a few times, and we could smell a hint of diesel fuel. We tried to empty him of salt water, and tried to get fresh water with a bit of sugar into him. We made good time with the wind on the quarter and it only took us a few days to make Baltimore. Once we were pretty close to shore we called ahead on the VHF radio for an ambulance. Our single-sideband radio packed up, so we had only short range communications. That's about it. The Reader's Digest version if you will. Rudyard Kipling would be proud."

Assumpta was dumbfounded and absorbed the tale in silence. "Amazing. Unbelievable. I'm speechless. I don't know how to thank you. Where is James?"

"He's ashore, with the others. There's James White, Alan Smith, John Leary, and Paul Richards. Paul is an EMT, and he did most of the medical stuff. Amazing, especially when you consider the amount of violent motion involved. I mean, the _Light_ is a good sea boat, but you have to remember that that storm took down a ship at least five or six times bigger than us. It was quite a breeze, all the air we needed and then some, and more than we wanted. Still, we were able to get your friend warmed up a bit, but he never really came to. He coughed a lot, and appeared to be in a bit of pain, but we tried to make him comfortable. He was beginning to get some color back in his skin when we landed. Without Paul's work I don't know that he would be alive today."

"Without any of you, he probably wouldn't be alive today. I would like to meet the rest of your crew, and I would like to take you all out for dinner tonight if that is OK with you."

"That's very kind of you Assumpta, but unnecessary, how about if we all have dinner on board tonight. Now that we're not at sea, these boys can eat, and drink! Gets rather dear. We have some lobsters, can get more. Let's have a party!"

"That's really not fair to you, and I would like to do something for you, although anything I do would be pitifully inadequate. You saved my friend's life. I can't put a price on that."

"Don't worry about it. We were lucky to see him at all, it's just the way it is. You bring a case or two of beer and that'll be plenty. Say 1830 to 1900ish?"

"If you're sure. Again, my mind is reeling. It is an amazing story, and words completely fail me here. I can't thank you enough. How much longer are you staying in Ireland?"

"Well, we never planned on being here at all, but we have a repairman coming tomorrow to fix the radio, and will probably sail shortly after he's finished. Wednesday morning, maybe. The owner wants the boat back in New England by mid-June, which will be cutting it real close, so we can't hang around here too long. Tell you what, though, your friend Peter wakes up before we sail, we'll try to visit him. We'll see you this evening at any rate. If he comes around, or you want to cancel, for whatever reason, just call the dockman and he'll get a message to us. No need to worry about it, you can't offend us."

"OK. That's grand. See you tonight, then." And with that Assumpta climbed back up onto the pier and into the Renault. She stopped at the dock shack to get the telephone number, then drove back to Bantry, all the while in a state of wonder over just how close an escape Peter had from death.


	6. Chapter 6

_**6: The Way It Is**_

When Assumpta got back to the hospital there was no change in Peter's condition, but there was a priest and another man talking to each other just outside the Casualty Ward. The other man was clearly another specimen from the Clifford gene pool. He had the same green eyes as Peter, only more piercing. They would not have been wasted on a border collie. The men shook hands, and the priest departed.

I'll have to get this over sooner or later, Assumpta thought to herself, no time like the present, and she said "You must be a Clifford. I'm Assumpta Fitzgerald, an old friend of Peter's"

He turned and fixed Assumpta in his penetrating stare. "I am indeed a Clifford, James Clifford. There are three others scattered around the globe. Peter and I are the only ones currently in Ireland though. So," he said, "you are Assumpta. THE Assumpta. I've heard a lot about you. Peter spoke very highly of you. Very highly indeed. I only just got in from London. I had a quick peek at him. He is still unconscious. Visiting hours are about to begin. Would you like to see him? Stupid question, of course you would, or you wouldn't be here. I must warn you though, he is probably very different from the last time you saw him."

She merely said "I haven't seen or heard from him in over a year, but I did just meet three of the men who pulled him out of the sea. I have some idea of what kind of shape he is in, but to answer your question, yes, I would like to see him. Very much."

"I'm beginning to see history in a different light. I certainly understand it a lot better. Shall we go in? If they ask, I'll say you're family."

In spite of all the warnings and self-preparations, Assumpta was stunned when she actually put eyes on Peter. His face was very thin and drawn, haggard even, a nasty welt rose in a vile lump on his right cheek, it was already turning a sickly yellow around the edges. An oxygen mask covered his nose and a drip feed of dextro-saline solution ran through a tube to his arm. A bandage was wrapped around his head. He was a pitiable sight, and although she tried very hard to prevent it, she involuntarily drew in a quick breath and her eyes filled with tears, yet still a part of her thrilled to be actually seeing him again.

"I did warn you," said James, noticing the hitch in Assumpta's breathing. "Still, where there's life there is hope, yeah? I'll leave you with him for a few minutes?" James silently withdrew, leaving Assumpta alone. The rest of the ward was quiet, and for at least a little while ceased to exist for Assumpta.

"Hi," she spoke very softly. "sounds like you've had quite an adventure, I can't tell you how relieved I am that you are still alive. For a while there, I thought you were dead." She thought this sounded pretty lame and grimaced, but continued. "Anyway, we never really got to talk about things before you left to attend to your Mum. We were all very sorry to hear about her passing. Look, I know a lot of things happened a year ago. I'm not proud of it. I did what I had to do." she paused and wrung her hands, remembering those same words uttered so long ago, before everything got so complicated, or maybe they already were complicated and she just didn't realize it. This wasn't going well. "It's just that I had to see you at least one more time, and although I have no right, and no expectations, if this is goodbye then I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry if I put you through Hell and that I love you, and have probably done so since I first picked you up that rainy day." At that, Assumpta leaned down and gently kissed Peter on the cheek and squeezed his forearm just as James re-entered the ward. He was not surprised to find Assumpta crying.

"Come on, let's get a cup of tea."

They were seated at a table in the cafeteria when James spoke "Assumpta, may we talk frankly?" She nodded, James's voice took on an note of iciness. "OK, good. You're an old friend and wanted to see him, fine. Now, you've seen him. I couldn't deny you that. And understand I mean no offense, but what are you doing here? What are you hoping to achieve? I need hardly remind you that Peter is still a priest. You'll excuse me if I connect you to the shattered condition that he came home from Ireland in last year. I know you got married about the same time my brother went on retreat, yet you have apparently dropped everything to dash across the country at a moment's notice to see a priest, and one you have had no contact with for over a year no less. That is hardly the behavior of a married woman, and irregular to say the least. My concern for my brother's health and emotional welfare outweighs all other issues, and as Peter is currently unable to speak for himself, I am his self-appointed advocate. So I have to ask you, what is it that you want?"

Assumpta was taken aback by the blunt approach he was taking, but she was shrewd enough herself to realize that had this approach been taken by another member of his family, maybe a great deal of pain, frustration, and heartache may have been avoided. She welcomed the change, and decided to be as open as she herself knew how.

"You certainly are direct and to the point. The simple answer is that my friend lies unconscious in the hospital, and not very long ago I thought he was probably dead. I had an overwhelming need to see him, and that he is ok. There are bigger issues at work though, and if it wasn't for this near-death business I would probably not be even willing to discuss it with anybody, especially with someone I only just met. However, these are not typical circumstances." Assumpta took a deep breath and continued, "I did get married about the same time as Peter went on retreat, but I'm not married now. I don't know what he may have told you, but there was _something_ between us. We both felt it. I'm sure of it, but I wasn't going to act upon it if he wasn't. It was an impossible situation, and I'm no seductress. He then said that whatever was, or wasn't going on between us, wasn't going to go any further, and that that was it. He was quite adamant about it. That was one of the worst days of my life, and I realized that there was no future for me with Peter. I had already decided to leave Ballykissangel, and the only thing that would have kept me there was his saying he would leave the priesthood. That wasn't going to happen, and since he was staying in town that meant I had to take myself away, for my own peace of mind. So I went to London and married a friend from college, but everything about it felt wrong, and so everything was wrong. We split up, he went his way, and I stayed in Ballykissangel. Shortly afterwards I asked for, and ultimately received an annulment. That was about eight/nine months ago. The whole episode is still painful and distressing, and it cost me two of my best friends. As you know, Peter never came back from bereavement leave, Father MacAnally said his, I mean your, mother had died and that he got transferred shortly after he left. He never wrote, called, or contacted anyone from home as far as I knew. Not a day went by when I didn't think about him, and when I heard that he was missing and presumed lost at sea, I completely fell to pieces. That was THE worst day of my life. I could cope with his absence as long as I knew he was all right somewhere, but the shock of finding out he was missing, probably dead, and that there was no way I would ever see him again was just too much. I told myself that if he was rescued I would at least tell him how much he means to me, and if need be, tell him sorry for all the heartache, and goodbye. Closure, if you will, but if friendship was still possible, that would mean more to me than just about anything."

James ruminated on this for a while, then said "Thank you for being equally honest with me. I figured something like you described happened. What few letters and calls we got were very light and airy at first. After about a year it was clear that something was developing, his letters became more evasive, he was obviously whitewashing some issues. His going on retreat was proof positive things were going critical. He did mention you got married, but after that: nothing. Granted, it was a short time before he left to come back to Manchester, but all the time we were together around the time of our mother's passing, you were no longer a topic of discussion. Something significant happened that he wasn't talking about, because if you must know, he did request a transfer out of Ballykissangel just hours before I called him to tell him about our mother being terminally ill. He loved that town, but suddenly he had to get out. He never said why. If I didn't know him better, I would have believed him to have had an affair. You do know that he had some difficulty with a parishioner before he came to Ireland? Pretty but strange girl who took a fancy to him. She started to make life difficult for him, wouldn't leave him alone, so he volunteered for a transfer away from Manchester, and the little tart even followed him. Do you understand my concerns? I think you were at the center of the problem. He is fragile, and for the past year has been through some very difficult times. Right now he needs someone to watch over him, that is where I come in. I have to make sure you're not going to upset him more by seeing him before he gets stronger. I'm sure you understand."

Assumpta had no idea James Clifford was going to use a sledgehammer to drive his points home. His direct approach certainly left no room for ambiguity or misinterpretation. She took a few moments to collect herself before offering a reply. "I would never do anything to deliberately hurt Peter. I knew Peter didn't approve of my marriage, but whether he was objecting to the Registry Office aspect or the apparent quickness of it I couldn't tell. We pretty much stopped talking to each other at that point. These last few days have reopened old wounds from last year. Wounds that I was finally able to coexist with when this forced me to look at it all over again. I don't want to lose his friendship, but I'm terrified he'll never want to see me again."

James thought for a while, then said, "I don't want to be talking out of place, but I don't think that you need worry about that. Knowing Peter, he'll want to see you, I'm sure. Only I'm not so sure its a good idea right now. Like I said, I'm only really interested in Peter's welfare. He's had enough excitement and misery for a lifetime this past year, and he doesn't need any more chaos in his life. That, however, is his decision once he's fit to decide for himself. I think I can trust you, but the first sign of trouble and you'll have me to answer to."

Again, the sting of his forthright delivery. Assumpta began to feel like she was engaging James Clifford in a verbal tennis match, or more likely an artillery exchange. "A minute ago you said Peter is still a priest. That is an odd way to say it. Of course he is still a priest, why wouldn't he be? Unless something has changed, or a change is expected. Has there been a change?" Assumpta asked.

"You're very observant." Here Assumpta felt she had scored a point, so she pressed on.

"I am a publican, goes with the territory. The pub would be in a right mess if I wasn't paying attention to my customers. I feel like I'm being interrogated here. I do believe honesty is the only way, but I think that if you are holding something back, then it is time to come forward with it. I want a _quid pro quo._ What is Peter's "situation?"

"I have to be sure you are good for Peter right now, part of the solution and not adding to the problem. Again, I don't want to speak out of turn, but Peter has applied for laicization, however, it is still pending. He spent months after Mom died in various therapy sessions and groups, inside and outside of the Church. He had profound doubts about his fitness as a priest, and finally got a leave of absence of sorts and started working as a Catholic Good Will missionary/cargo representative. He sort of created the job. Payed as well as a priest, which is to say it kept him at the poverty level, but kept him busy and productively occupied. He was an empty shell when he came home from Ireland last year, and he seemed to be finally pulling himself out of a deep hole, and none of us want to see him go back into it. A word to the wise.

They had stood up and were walking back towards the Casualty ward where something was clearly happening. It was impossible to tell exactly what was going on in the ward, but weak, hoarse screams and sounds of thrashing around could be heard. The thrashing subsided and was replaced by a series of low moans until they too segued into a sobbing. Assumpta rather fancied she heard her name mentioned amidst the chaos. Then a clear, commanding voice rose above the commotion calling "Doctor, come quick, bed 4." The bottom dropped out of Assumpta's stomach and she instinctively reached for James's hand." A doctor and nurses were hurriedly converging on Bed 4 in the Casualty Ward, the temporary residence of Father Peter Clifford.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note:_ This was a tough one, and was scrapped and rewritten a number of times. Early versions were much too dialog-heavy (as if this isn't), and so this has had considerable pruning. I was thinking of scrapping it altogether, but am offering it for your consideration with the suggestion that you can dismiss it out of hand if you feel so inclined. That is cheating I know, but I needed to get one or two conversations across.

 _ **7\. Pretzel Logic**_

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

It started one day Southbound off the coast of Portugal. _Estrellita_ was rolling to a lazy Atlantic swell, and Peter was wandering about the deck absorbing his first sea voyage, when the sound of singing and an acoustic guitar caught his attention. The singing and guitar playing was courtesy of David Gordon, the Chief Engineer, a fiery Scot in his mid-thirties.

"Father Peter, how are you?"

"Getting used to my world being in constant motion, but I think I like it. You're petty good with that, not a bad singer either. I think I've heard that song before, but can't place it."

"Queen. _**'39**_ , from the _**Night At The Opera**_ album, it's not about the sea, but space travel really. Not everyone got that, but hey ho, that's people for you."

"I have a guitar at home; haven't played it in years." Peter shifted a little uneasily, then ventured, "Ever hear of a band called Dark Rosaleen?"

"Uh, I think so, yeah, Irish band, kind of folky: one hit wonder. The wonder was why it was a hit at all. Lead singer/guitarist was a bit of a prat, if I remember correctly. Can't remember his name."

"Enda? Enda Sullivan?"

"Aye, that's him. Never knew him, but a mate of a mate did. That prick , oops, sorry, Father, he tried to shag his girlfriend." David stopped playing, put the guitar in its case, and stood up. "Lunch hour is over, back to the salt mines. The second mate has a 12 string, we play together once in a while. If you're up for it, you're welcome to join us. No hymns though, mostly 70s, 80s, and 90s with some older stuff thrown in just to be catholic (that's catholic with a small "c", Father) about it."

That was the start of what came to be known as "Music Appreciation Sessions," where melody and lyrics were discussed and debated. Sometimes it was live music, and sometimes it was tapes and/or CDs, and occasionally it was all three. David Gordon had an eclectic taste in music, and an impressive collection in his stateroom and office. Lyrics from a wide gamut of pop/rock songs were frequently an integral part of his everyday speech.

Sometimes the sessions were theme based, sometimes a single artist was featured, sometimes the format was free-form. Tonight, they were listening to a Queen mix tape. David had chosen that tape for the choir-like vocal arrangements, figuring it would be reasonably tolerable to the priest, and would balance out the more raucous rock and roll parts. **The Prophet's Song** prompted a discussion on the theology within the song, but it was during **Somebody To Love** that things started to go awry. Peter had of course heard the song many times before, but this time, as he was listening to it, really listening to the lyrics this time, he began to chill over. David, watching him, and noticed him getting more withdrawn and upset as the song progressed.

 _Each morning I get up, I die a little_

 _Can barely stand on my feet_

 _Take a look in the mirror,_

 _And cry, Lord what are you doing to me_

 _I have spent all my years in believing you_

 _But I just can't get no relief, Lord…._

A few songs later things got worse:

 _You're staring at me, with suspicion in your eyes_

 _Say what game are you playing, what's this that you're saying_

 _I know that I can't reply_

 _If I take you tonight, is it making my life a lie?_

 _Oh you make me wonder, did I live my life alright_

 _It's late, but it's time to set me free_

 _It's late, but there's no way it has to be_

 _Too late, so let the fires take our bodies this night_

 _So late, let the waters take our guilt in the tide_

 _It's late, it's late, it's late, it's late, it's late, it's late, it's late_

 _Oh, it's all too late_

He stopped the tape.

"You OK, Peter?" David asked.

It took a while for Peter to speak, but eventually he managed a "yeah, I'm fine."

"Yeah, right, sure you are, and I'm the queen of England. You're no' fooling me, man. I dinna believe you. You were fine until **Somebody To Love** came on; and that last one almost had you in tears."

"A couple of those songs cut kind of close to home, that's all."

"That's all?! If I didn't know any better I would say you were in love." Peter flinched. "Oh! ho ho. You were. No, wait. Present tense: are. You still are. Oh, ho ho ho, that must be a bit hard to wear given your particular line of occupation. I was wondering why you were here." David had been watching Peter as his words hit their mark. Then he added, "You poor bastard. Want to tell me about it?"

"I don't think so. Good night." And with that, he stood up and left.

The next day, after lunch, Peter found David playing his guitar out on deck again. David was just noodling around, but when he saw Peter he started a feverish strum and burst into song

 _Taking my time, choosing my line_

 _Trying to decide what to do_

 _Looks like my stop_

 _Don't want to get off_

 _Got myself hung up on you_

 _Seems to me_

 _You don't want to talk about it_

 _Seems to me_

 _You just turn your pretty head and walk away_

"Yeah, OK, very funny. Sorry I walked out suddenly last night. Touchy subject. Can't talk about it."

"Can't? Or won't? Why not? Is it a woman?" Peter stood at the rail staring at the horizon and said nothing. "Oh, don't give me any of that 'priests don't have those feelings' crap. The hell they don't. You're a human being, aren't you, so why can't you? Under that black suit and collar you boys wear, is merely a flesh and blood man, just like the rest of us. It's in our DNA, no getting around it. So what is it? Only a priest can help another priest? That's a load of crap too. What do priests know about the practical side love anyway (as if there was one)? Look, all I offered to do was listen, as one man to another, and maybe help."

Again an impassive brick wall.

"OK, you win, Peter. You win. For now, you win. But you will have to deal with it sooner or later, or it will eat you up, you hear me? It will eat you alive. And out here it will do a very thorough job of it too, I can tell you that for nothing. You have to leave problems like that ashore. Never bring them out here. Never. Once the novelty of being at sea wears off, you'll be in big trouble. Sailors have been trying to deal with those problems since before the Ark. And they've been going round the twist from Day One. The sea claims all, Peter, the sea claims all. Or as Jim Morison put it: 'No one gets out of here alive.'"

Suddenly, Peter found himself talking, "I know, and it has been killing me for over three years. But there is nothing I can do about it. I've been in therapy groups and on two retreats. I requested laicization months ago, they said they want me to think about it some more and be sure. I was also told that my chances of success were very small due to my age and that Pope John Paul II is not keen on laicizing anybody. Nothing has made a difference."

"Meaning what? They are not inclined to even submit or process your request? Have you given up on the idea yourself? Look, I don't know anything about what you're going through, but what qualifies a priest to have any kind of opinion on what its like to deal with love for a woman…we are talking about love here, aren't we? I always found it a bit rich: celibate priests having the nerve to advise on, pardon the crudeness of the expression, the stickier side of love. I wouldn't want a manual writer who has never been to sea before advising me on how to run my engine room. Or someone who can't fly advising an airline pilot how to fly a jumbo jet. Know what I mean? Add to that a Church that is not in any great rush to have priests escape into the lay world. You have to make it happen. If you want laicization, for whatever reason, you have to demand it."

Peter continued to stare at the ocean. David looked at Peter, waiting for him to speak, then he exhaled in exasperation and shook his head.

"No, this won't do. Look, Peter, I can't help you with the church side of things, I'm not a Catholic. What I might be able to help you with is the earthly side of the equation. This decision to leave the priesthood is being driven by something or someone, if you would care to talk about that I'm more than willing to listen. Like most sailors, I've got a history of long-distance and impossible relationships. If somebody could ever benefit from my cock-ups, then that would do me no end of good. Give all the misery and heartache meaning. You would be doing me a service, lad. Think about it, will ya?"

Another time Peter stopped in at the chief engineer's office to listen to music with David, they listened to something more current. David was fairly confident that Peter was close to opening up, but that he needed a push, and so had made musical selections to nudge Peter along. Being a Scot, David was playing Big Country, and rather loudly, too.

"Most of the best lyrics and music are born in depression, and these guys are among the very best. I mean, how many great songs are about really happy subjects, and how many of those do you really want to hear? Remember that song **Walking on Sunshine** from about ten years ago? So sickeningly sweet made you want to puke. It's only when you feel like everything is against you that you really feel the need to bleed, and let it out. Listen to the chorus on this one, Peter, and tell me what you think. Name of the song came from a poem."

He watched Peter closely as the song reached the chorus.

 _I'm not waving_

 _I'm drowning_

 _I've come too far out here_

 _I'm not waving_

 _I'm drowning_

 _And there's no way you can hear_

 _I was too far out of my life_

 _I'm not waving, but drowning_

David was pretty sure his strategy was working, the next tune or two would set the hook for sure.

Then

 _Maybe we should just be friends_

 _Maybe we_ _'_ _d be better strangers_

 _I know that everything ends_

 _I know the colour of danger_

 _All we do is hide the fire_

 _We just forget about the smoke_

 _Is that a smile with a future_

 _Or just a farewell to hope_

 _Some people can find a way_

 _To get this thing together_

 _But there's me, and there's you_

 _And there's the truth_

At that Peter stood up and started to walk out of the room. He looked at David, his eyes glistening, and said "You're doing this deliberately, aren't you?"

"Who, me? Never! Where are you going? I'm trying to help you, ya spavie. Don't be so bloody minded. Come on back and sit down, will ya?"

Peter got as far as the door and stopped. He tensed up, put a hand on each side of the frame, then seemed to deflate, an internal argument concluded. Barely above a whisper he muttered "Her name is Assumpta."

"Good. Now we're starting to get somewhere. Come back in and sit down. Have a whisky, and lets see what we can do. Tell me about her."

"To do her justice will take more time than we have tonight."

"Time is the one thing we have a lot of out here. If we're going to dig this up by the roots then start at the beginning and don't leave anything out."

"It was raining the day we met…."

And so Peter told the story of Assumpta, himself, what was and what never could be, of times when he was at apogee and also at perigee with sporadic interruptions to clarify a point here, and be chastised for stupidity there. In the end, David was on a knife edge between congratulating him on extreme self control in the face of overwhelming temptation and kicking him soundly in the backside for violations of "The Proper Way to Treat a Beautiful Woman Act of 1976" (something he himself was guilty of at the tender age of 14 when he lost the affections of Elspeth MacPhearson, also aged 14,(his first love) while trying to play hard to get. So guilty was he that the legislation was created specifically to prevent a similar recurrence….or so he said.)

"Unfortunately, it turns out that Assumpta was the "ONE" for you. What a terrifying and heartbreaking realization. Here is your soul mate, the other half of you that will make you a complete person. Some people spend their lives searching for that person and never find it. You do, but you are not allowed to do anything about it. At least not by the rules of the Church. God might have designed and meant for the two of you to compliment each other perfectly and to fill out your days together, but 'not so fast' says the Church. That's brilliant! And doesn't that just suck? And as your fellow Mancunians , the band James so beautifully said, ' _If I hadn't seen such riches, I could live with being poor.'_ Result: a lorryload of frustration and illicit sexual tension delivered fresh every morning and evening. That sort of thing happens in the movies and on television, it isn't supposed to happen in real life."

In the end he heartily agreed with Peter's request for laicization, and his need to push hard for it when he returned to England. He went one stop further, and posited that Peter was fundamentally unsuited/unfit to be a Catholic priest, and that for a multitude of reasons would, in the long run, have better off if he had left Ballykissangel when the opportunity first arose. Since he stayed on, however, meant that the resultant mess would require a lot of hard work to clean up: that and a bit of luck. Laicization would, he said,put him in a position to do something positive about it when the situation changes.

"What changes? What's going to change, she's married her college lover."

"Only a priest would think that was inviolate and couldn't change. From what you said, I think she made a rash decision, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was no longer with him even as we speak. Do you know for a fact they are together still? That marriage sounded like a move of desperation, and maybe her taking a shot at you. She didn't sound too keen on you when you told her to piss off. Anyway, you know the saying, "marry in haste, repent at leisure." I don't see that union as either strong or long-lasting. You may have buggered things up completely so far, but I would wager, and maybe even willing to pay up, that another chance will come along. It might not be with Assumpta, but something or someone else will come along. Depend on it. You are not, nor will you be free of this problem, and it would be in your best interests to be ready for whatever and whenever."

It was on the return trip to Liverpool that things got heavy. They had spent over two weeks at anchor off Abijan in the Ivory Coast waiting to unload, and then another week waiting for a cargo of coffee beans. They were all going a little crazy with mixture of Cabin and Channel Fevers, and all were looking forward to getting home. Peter was to be getting off the ship and returning to the Bishop in Manchester to discuss his future. And then came a change of orders. They were to divert to the Azores to load a small semi-portable desalinization plant for transshipment in Liverpool. When they were three days from Liverpool David checked on Peter to see if was well prepared for his upcoming and all-important interview.

"So, where to now St. Peter?" asked David. "What are you going to say? What's the plan? What are you going to do if they say 'No'?

"I'm not really sure." replied Peter.

"Won't do, lad. Won't do at all. Remember, if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice. There are four roads out of this mess you're in. Shall we review for those watching at home? One, you stay a priest with all the dissatisfaction, frustration and loneliness you've experienced so far. Ultimately that road might very well lead to madness, and for what purpose? Is there nobility or grace in it? Not likely. Martyrdom is only glorious for the dead; for the living it's bloody uncomfortable, inconvenient, and miserable. Bugger that, right?

"I'll reserve comment on that."

"Fine, you make that reservation, cash, credit, or cheque, single bed, no check-out date. Madness is easy. You're halfway there right now. What we really need in this world is more insanity.

"The other possibility is that you apply for, and are granted a release from your vows, at which point you go about your merry way and become the family man that you were almost certainly meant to be.

"And then there is the cross between the above two scenarios. The Kamikaze decision if you will, where the Church tells you 'No way' and you tell the Church to get stuffed and do it anyway. That could lead to a 'fall from grace in the eyes of the Church', excommunication, and possibly a happily ever after. You broker your own deal with God, and not a bunch of men in pointy hats. Anyway, those are the possibilities as I see them"

"What about the fourth scenario?"

"Huh? Oh, you fu….you die, of course. Only way to solve all your worries, anxieties, and uncertainties in one neat, compact package. Just a fade to black and roll credits. You don't even have to worry about the reviews. I wouldn't recommend it, though. No chance of a rewrite, which is kind of what you're involved in right now. It's all up to you."

"That sounds rather grim."

"Aye, that, my friend, is what life's big moments are all about. They wouldn't be big moments if they weren't momentous. Life changing means exactly that, life changes. Burn everything to the ground to promote new growth. None of this comes to you as a surprise, I'm sure, but sometimes we get too wrapped up in the process to see things as they really are. Nothing can be harder to see than the obvious when you're too close or else seeking a complex solution. Will the priest be able to go forward as a priest in good, clear conscience, and free of Assumpta? Will a civilian be able to make peace with his God, if not the Catholic Church? Only time will tell.

"The Church is probably committed to a course of dissuasion and will try and keep you as a priest. I'm just offering another perspective. You say the Pope isn't keen on laicization, but I'm saying if you want it, you'll have to be unambiguous, and ready to fight for it. There is an old saying: 'Success is not a result of spontaneous combustion, you must set yourself on fire.' Not exact correlation, but you see what I'm saying?"

That was the last of the many discussions they had on the subject. Peter didn't agree with everything David said, but he was closer to the truth than some of the counselors he had met with. Peter was unsure if that was an accolade for the Engineer, or a black mark against the counselors. In the end, he decided it didn't really matter one way or the other.

Songs quoted:

Queen: _Somebody To Love, It's Late_

The James Gang: _Walk Away_

Big Country: _Not Waving, But Drowning, You Me And The Truth_

James: _Sit Down_

Rush: _Free Will_


	8. Chapter 8

A.N. A glossary of nautical terms appended at end of chapter. You knew this chapter was coming. Hold on.

 _ **8\. Walk On The Ocean**_

(Atlantic Ocean, 4-500 miles SW of Cape Clear)

The day had started with unsettled weather. After looking at the weather facsimile map, Captain Chilton said that they were in for an uncomfortable night and most of the next day, but although large, the low pressure system didn't look too threatening. Up till now, the trip had been rather pleasant, weatherwise. However, the North Atlantic is an unpredictable and capricious mistress. As _Estrellita_ drew ever closer to home, the Atlantic drew a metaphorical breath and reached for her riding crop.

As the afternoon progressed the wind rose and the sea rose with it. By the evening meal it was blowing a solid Beaufort force 8 with higher gusts, and the sea was running an easy 4-5 meters. Right after dinner the engine started behaving erratically. A fuel line collapsed and needed replacement, requiring the engine to be shut down for about ten minutes while the line was replaced. David Gordon, Kimat (the assistant engineer), and Peter were all working like fiends in the engine room to get the engine running again. As the ship lost headway, she lost steering and briefly went beam to (parallel to) the seas. During that time the ship rolled with a spiteful fury in the building tumult. Luckily the sea state still permitted such antics, but it was plain to everyone on board that such grace would be in increasingly short supply as the storm worsened. The wind and sea continued to rise as the evening wore on

At about 6.30PM a strong squall raced down upon them and the wind suddenly ratcheted up to Beaufort 11, nearly hurricane force, and the seas quickly more than doubled in height. _Estrellita_ had been taking seas aboard all afternoon, but now they started coming aboard like a mob of ill-tempered children.

Once normality had been restored in the engine room, and the spilled fuel cleaned up, Peter went topside to the bridge to witness the power of nature. He was not disappointed. They were now hove-to; pointing nearly into the waves and steaming very slowly to ease the violent pitching. By now, the seas were over 10 meters high, and _Estrellita's_ bows came clean out of water before slamming down upon the next sea like a sledgehammer. As the bow dropped down, and the stern came out of water the screw would race in the air, complaining loudly.

Visibility in the gathering gloom was poor; the seas raced down upon _Estrellita_ , but she was coping with everything the ocean threw at her. And then the ship lifted her bow to a wave that felt much larger than any other. Up rose the bow, the ship paused like a roller coaster at the top of the big hill then plunged down into a hole in the ocean burying her bow into the next sea. Time and motion stood still for a second, as the bow disappeared in a smother of white water. The sudden deceleration as the ship slammed into the oncoming wall of water threw people off their feet and launched anything not tied down into the air and onto the deck. A loud sickening cracking noise filled the air. It sounded and felt as though the ship hit solid rock, but the nearest rock was over a mile away, directly beneath them on the sea floor. As the boarding sea surged over the deck probing everywhere, the vessel rolled far over to port, and hung there, balanced on eternity before slowly righting herself. The chief mate, a dour German tried to get the ship to come back to starboard when he noticed that the screw was no longer turning. He passed his observation on to the captain, who tried calling the engine room. Peter immediately headed below to see if he could help with whatever this new problem could be.

Below, just about every alarm in the engine room erupted into life simultaneously as the main engine suddenly quit. "Oh, what now, Old Girl?" queried David as he frantically set about trying to find out why the engine stopped and get it restarted. As the ship started to slew around beam to the seas she presented her port side to the wind and started rolling with murderous intent. A few minutes later, a new sound pierced the din of the engine room.

"What is that?" asked Peter as he entered the engine room. David was just hanging up the sound powered phone.

"Oh bugger! Not good!" said David looking at his alarm panel, "High bilge alarm in number two hold. We're taking on water! Peter, can you line up the pump as I showed you before? We have to start pumping that water out. Now!" Peter had been spending an hour or so a day in the engine room, and he found the work invigorating. David appreciated the extra manpower and as Peter was a quick study had taught him many of the smaller engine room tasks. That was paying dividends right now as Peter went to start this most essential task. He reported to David that the pump was on line and drawing suction. David thanked him, and tried restarting the main engine, it spluttered into life, then stopped again with a series of loud bangs.

"Oh Bugger! Damn! Damn! Damn! That's it I'm afraid. Peter, get out of here, Now! Get up closer to the deck. Move!"

An oilskin-clad figure came down the ladder, it was the second mate. "Chief, the hatch cover to number two hold is buckled, we're taking seas all the time. It's blowing a hurricane now. If we can't get power real soon, the Old Man is thinking we'll have to abandon. We won't last much longer."

"I think we just lost a piston, hopefully I can isolate it. At least we have the pump going now." The engine room phone buzzer went off. "Can you get that? I'm kind of busy"

The second mate came back, "Chief! The Old Man says we're awash all the time now. He says leave it and come up. It's time to go." The second mate had barely hung up when the general alarm bell exploded into life and rang the signal for emergency. There was little room for speculation in the meaning of the signal.

"Damn!" Then to his assistant: "Ok lad, you heard the man, let's go. We're through here."

As they started making their way out of the engine room toward the deck they ran into Peter who was coming the opposite way.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked the second mate.

"Engine room, going to help the Chief."

"No. He's right behind me. It's time to go."

"What? Where are we going?"

David had caught up with the second mate. "Time to leave, Peter. The ship is going to go down. The only time you leave at ship at sea is when your chances are better elsewhere. Let's move, you can tell by the feel that it won't take long. It's over. Lady mercy won't be home tonight, but let's hope she's coming with us."

Indeed, the ship had taken on a sharp list to starboard and was hanging longer every time she rolled in that direction, and the list was increasing with every roll. As they neared the main deck one of the able seamen met them and handed them life jackets and exposure suits. "The life boat is smashed. It's the rafts or nothing." said he. The second mate took command, and instructed everyone to put on their exposure suit and then the lifejacket once out on deck. "If you get separated from the raft or boat try and find something to provide floatation, something that will keep you out of the water. It's your best chance for survival." The men all shook hands and wished each other good luck, then went out on deck.

As the men reached the deck a great comber washed over the ship and she rolled right onto her side, crushing the already smashed lifeboat and tossing the party of men boarding the raft into the sea. David pushed Peter into the water just before he would have been bowled over by a 55-gallon drum that had broken loose. He yelled into Peter's ear "Good luck, and Stay Alive!" just as the ship came down on top of him.

Peter thrashed about in the water trying to find the raft in the mayhem. It sounded like every fiend in Hell had been turned loose on the North Atlantic. Voices could barely be heard in what seemed to him the wrong direction. He tried to move towards them, but found movement very difficult, and tiring, and he was constantly being battered by debris in the water. He sensed rather than saw that the ship was completely gone. Before long the voices faded away, and he was alone on the cold, dark Atlantic.

Hours passed, although he could not accurately judge time. It had been dark now for quite some time. As the shock of the ship's loss began to recede so did his consciousness start to fade in and out. He frequently swallowed sea water, which sent him coughing and gagging. The stench of diesel oil filled his nostrils, and also found its way into his mouth, he retched. Oddly, bits and pieces of songs started to flit through his head:

 _And there you are, on and on and on and on inside my head like a whisper._ He called out into the darkness "Assumpta?"

 _For all the places we might go_

 _Places I will never know_

 _I would trade them all for one empty room_

 _With you and I left there alone_

"Assumpta, please!" His mouth filled with salt water again and he was violently sick.

 _If two people are meant to be together, there is no force on this Earth that will keep them apart._

"Assumpta! I'm sorry, forgive me, please!"

 _I know I've dreamed you, a sin and a lie_

 _I have my freedom, but I don't have much time_

 _Faith has been broken, tears must be cried_

 _Let's do some living, after we die_

He blacked out.

He came to five minutes later when something hard smacked into his shoulders and head. The jarring pain woke him up and discovered he was sharing the ocean with what he guessed was a large palette. Instinctively he held on to it, but barely had the strength to do anything more. He could tell his body and mind were shutting down and so composed what he believed would be his final prayer. He prayed for strength, deliverance of his shipmates as well as himself, and guidance if he was to see the morning. He was so tired, he could barely stay awake. He felt himself slipping away again. And then from some obscure corner of his sanity:

 _So take that look out of here, it doesn't fit you_

 _Because it's happened doesn't mean you've been discarded_

 _Lift your head off the floor, Come up screaming_

 _Cry out for everything you ever might have wanted_

 _I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered_

 _But you can't stay here with every single hope you've had shattered_

Both the music and David Gordon called to him one final time: _Stay Alive!_

And with that ringing in his head he mustered from deep within himself enough strength to heave himself up onto the palette where he lay gasping, but largely out of water.

Time ceased having meaning. He drifted in and out of consciousness, the constant motion on the raging sea causing him no end of misery. His head spun, he was wracked by hunger pangs, frequently sick, and desperately thirsty. Peter felt he must be going mad, but a small part of his brain reasoned that where there was madness there was life. His brain ran wild, filling his mind with terrifying images. Apocalyptic thunder and lightning storms raged, and in one hideous moment of clarity he saw a bolt of lightning strike a human form. He knew it must be Assumpta. He tried crying out for her, but everything went black again.

Slowly, and grudgingly night yielded to morning. Dimly aware that he had survived the night he attempted to look around. That proved a bad idea as his raft was very unstable and he almost capsized it more than once in the still large seas. That feeble attempt at movement sapped his waning reserves of energy and he collapsed into semi-consciousness. Rain fell in sheets intermittently, the cold gripped him mercilessly, and he shivered uncontrollably. A distant part of his mind familiar with hiking registered that this must be the onset of hypothermia. At least it won't be painful was his last thought. A few minutes later he was blissfully unconscious.

He was barely and only vaguely aware when he sensed a series of unusual changes in motion and disembodied human voices. As he struggled to achieve consciousness he called "Assumpta" one last time, then yielded to oblivion and passed out again.

Then all was quiet. Peter was treading water in a calm, endless sea at twilight, one by one the stars came out to light the sky. A kayak approached him and he was surprised to see Jennie Clark paddling it. She merely looked at him, said "there will be a next time" and paddled off. A while later a large, high-sided power boat came by with Father MacAnally at the helm. "And that is the question: Have you got the mettle to be a real priest?" Then he too went away. The next boat to come by had Judge Mickey Bradley in it, he looked at Peter with mischief in his eyes and said "What game is that? Chess, or priest?" before he too departed. The darkness was now almost a totality. Peter was convinced he had crossed over into madness.

Then a small rowboat pulled up, and he was surprised to see Assumpta in it. "Peter, it's time."

"Time for what?"

"Time for you to come home."

"Is there room in your boat for me?"

"No. You have to do this yourself." She looked at him pityingly. "Come home, Peter."

"Where is that?"

"With me. Come quick, before it's too late." she answered, then vanished..

So this is it, I'm dying, he thought. The only way I can be with her is for us both to be dead. Oh great.

 _Oh you make me wonder, did I live my life alright_

 _It's Late, but it's time to set me free_

A dim light appeared. "Assumpta? I'm coming, Assumpta." he called, but the words wouldn't form in his mouth. He tried to move towards the light, thrashing wildly and all the while trying to call for Assumpta.

A new authoritative voice broke into his world. "Doctor! Come quick, bed four!"

Songs quoted:

Big Country: _One In A Million, Everything I Need, In A Big Country_

Rolling Stones: _Wild Horses_

Queen: _It's Late_

GLOSSARY

Beam to: Lying parallel to the trough of the waves (Potentially fatal if "synchronous rolling" happens where the ship's rolls synchronize with the waves

Exposure/survival suit: waterproof, insulated semi-loose-fitting "onesie" worn over clothes to prolong one's chance in cold water

General Alarm: Alarm bell, somewhat akin to a school bell, for alerting crew to any number of emergencies. Different patterns of ringing for different situations

Plant: Main engine/propulsion system

Port: Left side of a ship when facing forward

Screw: Propellor

Starboard: Right side of ship when facing forward

Weather facsimile map: weather map received via radio or satellite showing disposition of warm/cold fronts, high/low pressure systems etc.


	9. Chapter 9

A.N. Aside from the faithful few, this saga seems to lose readers with every chapter. To those who do read and review, Thanks. The next five chapters are roughed out, just a bit of sanding needed. Doubt we'll need twenty. And now, things start to come together...

 _ **9: A Sort of Homecoming**_

They were not allowed into the Casualty ward for over half an hour, and they could get no information out of the sister at the desk or anywhere else. On the plus side of things, nobody came to wheel away any lifeless body, and although much was happening in the ward, there seemed to be no sense of panic or disorder.

Finally a doctor came out and spoke to them.

"Mister Clifford, your brother has woken up. It was a stressful awakening. He is very weak, can barely talk, is stable now, but very fragile. You may see him in a few minutes, but keep the excitement to a minimum, and please limit the length of your visit to only a few minutes. We will probably move him to a different ward this evening, but for now we're keeping him in Casualty. His case is remarkable, and he is a very fortunate man, by most rights he should be dead. There is always an unpredictability about the sea, but considering what he's been through, he is actually in pretty good condition. Early days, but there is much room for optimism. Do you have any questions for me right now? No? Very good. Sister O'Brien will show you in when he is ready for visitors. I'll be back in about an hour or so, in case you have any concerns. Goodbye." He shook both James' and Assumpta's hands then departed.

"Well, that's a relief, wouldn't you say? Let me go in first and prepare him for seeing you. The doctor did say no excitement. I'm sorry, but he might be expecting me, but I sincerely doubt he is expecting you."

"No. Good point. I'll wait out here."

Sister O'Brien came out of the ward and said "You can see him now"

James went in, and was back within three minutes. "I told him he had another visitor waiting outside the ward. Someone who wanted to see him very much, but wasn't sure how she would be received. He can barely talk, as the doctor said, but he seems reasonably coherent. He knows we can't stay for very long, but he seemed willing. Actually, that is a bit of an understatement. Are you ready?"

She nodded, and walked into the ward. Peter was looking towards the door and as he saw her for the first time his eyes opened wide and he looked like he was fighting some great inner turmoil. The heart monitor suddenly sounded like it was playing a Bach minuet. The ward sister rushed to his bedside to check on him. He tried vainly to wave her off, but he only had eyes for Assumpta. He finally seemed to resolve the struggle and he managed to hoarsely croak "'Oh my God. Assumpta! It is you. You're here!" Those nine words seemed the product of a supreme effort, and he had to rest before he could attempt anything so ambitious again.

Assumpta noticed this, and soothed, "Hello, sailor. Welcome back to Ireland. Shh Peter. Don't talk now. Save your energy. Let me do the talking for now. It's been a while since we last saw each other. I can barely believe I'm seeing you now. You gave us all quite a fright. I thought you were lost at sea, yet here you are. It's almost enough to make a believer out of someone. Don't ever do something like that again. You do, and I'll kill you myself." At this point, Assumpta was barely suppressing tears, but continued, "It's just so good to see you once again."

Peter reached out and took Assumpta's hand and gently pulled her down towards the bed as he tried to move over. As she sat Peter opened his arms and Assumpta leaned in as his arms lightly closed around her. James was not surprised to find them both weeping.

Assumpta sat up and dried her eyes. "This morning I went down to Baltimore to meet the men on the boat that picked you up. A more wonderful group of men I've never met, and one man, James White, was the one who first saw you then jumped into the sea to pull you out of some wreckage. I'm filled with admiration and gratitude for them. They might sail for America in a day or so, but they said they would like to actually meet you if possible. If you're up to it, and the hospital will permit it, that is."

"Absolutely. I owe them my life."

These six words set off a round of furious coughing and hacking and Peter lay back in his bed, evidently worn out from the visit. Both James and Assumpta took it as a cue to depart. Before she left Assumpta asked Peter "Is it OK if I come back tomorrow?" Peter nodded. "Tonight I'm having dinner with the crew that rescued you. Any messages?" Peter merely clasped his hands to his heart. "I'll tell them. I'll see you tomorrow then, sleep well." They held hands briefly and Peter raised her hand to his mouth for a very brief kiss. She responded by kissing her fingers then touching his cheek. "Bye. Sleep well." and she left.

James followed her out of the ward a few minutes later. He caught up with Assumpta outdoors. "I think he'll be alright now, and it looks like at least one of your questions is answered. Now if we can only keep him from getting too excited when you walk in the room he might actually recover. So, you're off to Baltimore?"

"Um, yeah. I was invited for dinner. I offered to take them all out, but they insisted on hosting a hooley on the boat. Do you like seafood? They were talking about lobsters. I am bringing beer and wine. I'm sure they would be happy if you came too. If the three I've met are any indication they really are a very nice bunch of guys. Do you have a mobile phone? I can call the shed on the jetty, they said I can get a message to them that way." He handed her his phone and she dialed the number of the dock shed. She spoke to the harbourmaster, who said he would relay the message. Assumpta thanked him and rang off. "All set." she said.

* * *

The dinner party on _Northern Light_ was a roaring success. James Clifford was welcomed and the crew were genuinely pleased to hear of Peter's return to the World of the Living. The lobsters were great and plentiful, the beer and wine flowed freely, and Assumpta had to tip her proverbial hat to the capacity these American's had for alcohol. With such men as these as steady customers, she thought, she could contemplate an annual vacation in Marbella and possibly early retirement. They drank to Peter's rescue, general health, and the promise of a speedy and safe crossing to America: and then they started all over again. They also reaffirmed their promise to visit the hospital before sailing on Wednesday. It was late before the revelry wound down, and an exhausted Assumpta only just managed to get back to Bantry in one piece, she was that tired.


	10. Chapter 10

A.N. Thanks for the reviews. They mean a great deal. We pick up where we left off...

 _ **10: Lessons**_

Visiting hours were in the afternoon and evening, so Assumpta slept in, which was a minor miracle. She hadn't had a good sleep in days, but now that she had seen and spoken to Peter the immediate panic was over. He was safe, and for now, that was enough. When she woke she called Niamh to fill her in on developments.

"So, how is he?" Niamh asked.

"He's in one piece, and seems to be functional and rational, but he's been through so much. He woke up yesterday afternoon, and can barely talk, Everything takes such an effort. He is very thin and weak, but the doctors are confident he'll make a full recovery.

"I met his brother James yesterday, and also the men who rescued him. All very nice men. Their boat looked awfully small to be crossing the ocean, but they say it is plenty big enough. Great and funny guys, with strange accents. Not at all like the ones we hear on the telly. They're going to sail in a day or two for Bermuda and America, but said they wanted to see Peter before they leave. How is everything there?"

"Oh fine, you know, nothing changes quickly around here, though Dr. Ryan and Brendan are a little put out that you left when you did. Father Mac came around the other day. He was asking for you, but we just told him you were away. He seemed satisfied with that, but I don't know. He was mumbling something about it all starting again."

"God, is there no limit to that man!" Assumpta seethed. "Why can't he mind his own business. He's not Peter's boss anymore!"

"He's the Parish Priest, besides, he's always been like that. How much longer do you plan on staying there?"

"I don't really know, Niamh. A couple of days, maybe. I will have to get back before too very long. It's very nice down here, but I'll run out of money and laundry if I leave it too long."

"Do I have to ask?" asked Niamh, with just a hint of exasperation in her voice.

"Ask what?"

"Was he happy to see you? Honestly, Assumpta, you can be thick as a plank sometimes."

"I think so. He seems happy to see anybody, especially considering he came so close to meeting God in person, so to speak. I'm in foreign territory here, I've never felt like this before. Making it up as I go along. We only spoke for a few minutes, but yes, he seemed pleased to see me. I think it all went rather well. Being with him yesterday both broke my heart and made it sing for the first time in over a year. I'm so glad he's still alive. Nothing like thinking someone is dead to clarify your feelings. I cuts out all the wishywashiness. I know I shouldn't say this, but its no wonder Leo never really stood a chance. This is the real thing, Niamh, the real thing. I just have to let it takes its course, though. I have to learn patience."

"Well that can't be a bad thing, Assumpta. You're going to need a lot of it. But don't forget he is a priest. You haven't chosen an easy road here, Assumpta. I just hope it leads somewhere that you can live, wherever that is. We do need to talk a little business now though." and so the conversation wended its way through supply orders and other pub related topics until Niamh rang off. "Go easy, girl." Niamh said aloud as she hung up the phone.

* * *

When Assumpta arrived at the hospital for visiting hours she found Peter had been moved out of Casualty and into a private room. Probably a priest perk, she thought, and for once she didn't mind. She also found him much more alert and stronger.

"So, how do you feel today?" she asked.

"Better," he managed. "My throat still hurts and its a little difficult to talk. But I feel much better. How are you?"

"I'm fine, aside from this friend of mine nearly drowning. Scared the hell out of me, but he seems OK now."

"That's good to hear." he replied. "Has there been any news of David Gordon? He's the only one unaccounted for. We only just managed to get up on deck when the ship rolled over. He was a good friend, and a great shipmate. We sat up late most nights and talked. He was easy to talk to. I think he helped me get things straight in my head more than anybody else did. I owe him a great debt of gratitude." He paused and stared at nothing. The pause began to achieve an uncomfortable length, when, from a very great distance Peter's voice began again, "Assumpta, you have no idea what it was like, and I hope and pray that you never go through anything like that. Ever. I still haven't really digested it all yet. I never thought I would see dry land again."

The sudden hollowness in his voice shook Assumpta, and only hinted at the horrors he had endured. Her heart ached for him. "I can't imagine what it was like. But sorry, no. No news as yet, but so far three different boats rescued all of you except for him. Hopefully there is a fourth boat we don't know about."

"I've been praying constantly for his deliverance." Peter fought back tears, swallowed, composed himself, then asked, "So what's new in Ballykissangel? I doubt anyone would want to see me again after I left without saying goodbye."

"Don't be ridiculous, you had to take care of your mother, then got transferred. Of course they would love to see you. They might give you a hard time for a bit, but otherwise, I think its obvious you were reasonably well liked. Let's see now, Siobhan and Brendan had a little girl. Named her Aisling. Siobhan gave birth to her in Brian's hot tub. Mother and child doing well, father maybe less so, but he'll be fine too. Padraig has been hitting a rough patch, he's talking about moving to England to be nearer Kevin, who went to live with his mother. Niamh and Ambrose are still Niamh and Ambrose, not much real change there…I think so, at least. Kieran's getting big, and he started walking. Kathleen and I have a sort of nonaggression pact right now. Brian is up to his usual tricks, trying to build a golf course of all things. Same old thing, you know. Michael Ryan never changes. Neither do Liam and Donal for that matter."

"And how is Leo," he asked tentatively.

She grimaced and took a deep breath. "Ah, Leo. Yeah. Erm, Peter, what can I say. I guess he's fine. I…I wouldn't know. Things just weren't working out for us. He left right after you did, and like you, he never came back. That was a bad time for us. Look, I don't really want to bother you with it right now. We should be talking about you now. Get you back on your feet. How about you? How and what have you been doing, aside from the obvious, I mean?"

"I'm very sorry to hear that. I mean it. If you ever want to talk about it, my shingle is always up, I may not have an office anymore, but my ears still work." He paused to compose himself, then began, "Here's the condensed version of this past year: I left BallyK to go home to tend my mother who was very ill. She died of cancer about three weeks after I got to Manchester. Very dark times for me, very dark. I was given compassionate leave for a few more weeks, after which I was reassigned. I worked in an administrative capacity for the diocese for a while, which wasn't very satisfying. I also spent a lot of time in various therapy sessions and groups. About six months ago I was asked if I wanted to get involved with Catholic Good Will. I had a bit of a problem with people then and wanted to get away from them for a while. I thought 'why not' and made a trip or two out to Bosnia. That was exciting, too exciting actually, and they pulled me off it. Then there was this ship taking supplies to West Africa and they wanted someone to oversee things. I was supposed to just fly in when the ship got there, but I wanted to experience life on the open sea, get away from people for a little while longer, so I sailed aboard the ship. We went to the Ivory Coast and were on our way home when we had to pick something up the Azores. On the way to Liverpool everything went pear shaped, and the rest you know, probably better than I do. I've been out of pocket for a number of days. I have vague memories of being adrift on the ocean, and none of my rescue. It is all so hazy. So far, there has been no sign of David Gordon? Could you pour me a glass of water, please? Thanks, all this talking is aggravating my throat."

"Sorry about that. David was the engineer, right? Not that I've heard at least." Assumpta noticed he made no mention of requesting laicization, but tried to keep things light and upbeat, although she was more concerned that he had asked the same question about David Gordon a few minutes earlier. She decided to let it go this time. "Any word on when they'll discharge you?"

"Once I can get up and move about by myself, I guess. I don't know, really, but so far I have no clear idea on where I am to go or do. England, I suppose. The Church was kind of trying to find a place for me for a while, but now? I just don't know. The local priest was in to talk this morning, routine hospital visit."

"Staking a claim on you, was he? Reporting back to the higheejins? Next thing you know, Father Mac will show up to make sure you don't get corrupted."

"Assumpta." Peter said wearily, "they're just doing their jobs."

"Yeah, right. I know a little town where you could convalesce."

"Oh yeah? Nice place, is it? Natives friendly?"

"Mostly harmless, I would say. You're welcome to stay at the pub any time you like. Free of charge, unless I take it out of you in trade. I need a dishwasher."

"Sounds lovely, and I might stop in on my way through to England, but I doubt even that would be well received in certain quarters."

"Still worried about what people would say?"

"No, but I may need all the good will I can get soon enough. But that is for another time. There are things that I have to do, just not sure when, where, or how. I can't help but think my arrival in BallyK would be counterproductive in the long run. You understand, yeah?"

"Whatever you say, Peter. I would like to see you again. Anytime. I mean it."

"Thanks for that. I would like that too. I might have a lot of free time on me hands before too very long. I can't think of a better way to spend it. We'll see."

At that moment, James Clifford walked into the ward with the priest from the day before, and the discussion was steered around to other topics. Assumpta scowled at the priest, and took her leave as soon as decency would allow.


	11. Chapter 11

_**11\. With Or Without You**_

When Assumpta came back to the hospital after dinner, she was stunned to find a very wobbly Peter standing by the side of his bed.

"What is this?" she asked. "An amateur talent show or stupid human tricks?"

"Maybe both, and just watch this!" Peter slowly managed to shuffle across the room with the aid of a cane. "Makes the loo much more civilized," he added very matter of factly.

"I bet it does. What else can you do?" She couldn't help noticing just how gaunt and thin he really was now that he was standing. "My god, Peter, you really have lost a lot of weight. I'm tempted to try that diet myself."

"I'll save you the bother. You don't want to, nor need to. You're perfect just the way you are. Let me try it without the cane." He took a few steps toward her, then seemed to fail. She rushed forward and threw her arms around him just in time to keep him from pitching headfirst onto the floor.

She steered him back towards the bed, when a loud and gruff voice landed in the room like a naval salvo. "And just what the divil is going on in here? Honestly, I turn my back on you for one minute, just one minute and you're in here trying to dance a jig. Englishmen!" she wailed "When will you learn you can't dance! Didn't I tell you not to try anything stupid, I mean heroic? There'll be plenty of time for that later. And you, Miss? Encouraging him, were you? Ah youth these days! I don't know why I bother sometimes. As for you, Father, a man of God!" There was a blur of hands as Sister Chlotilde tucked Peter back into his bed. "Doctor will be along shortly to straighten you out, so!" She was spitting venom and fire at both Peter and Assumpta, but it was clear she was doting on her charge. "In all my years…" she muttered as she bustled out of the room leaving the two suppressing a storm of giggles.

"Well, that was fun. Is she always like that?" asked Assumpta.

"Dunno, I was asleep for most of her previous ministrations. She's called the Terror of the Night Shift. Says all the looney stuff happens at night, and its her job to stop it. Supposedly, she served in the Royal Marines, singlehandedly liberated Port Stanley during the Falklands War, smokes three packs of cigarettes and drinks a bottle of Jameson's, neat, every day to give her voice that edge which could cut steel….or so they say. Doctor Foley is frightened of her. She tucked me in so tightly I think my foot is falling asleep." Peter had been fidgeting with his bedclothes but the blankets were resisting his efforts.

Later, Peter was in an introspective mood. "Don't misunderstand me, I've greatly enjoyed seeing you here, but when do you have to get back to the pub?"

Assumpta resisted the thought that he was trying to get rid of her. He did seem genuinely pleased to see her and be with her, but there was this nagging doubt that he would soon retreat to the safety of the collar. She ventured a noncommittal, "Not sure, really. Niamh seems to have it all in hand there, but I'm going to have to go back before too long. I can always come back again, or if they move you to another place. Where there's a will…" She let that last bit hang in the air to see if it prompted a response.

"Well, I got a call this morning from my old boss in Manchester that as soon as I am ambulatory, I am to present myself to him. He didn't make it sound urgent, but he clearly wasn't going to brook any unnecessary delays. He offered a transportation to Manchester, but I told him I would get there under my own power. There are certain questions that need to be answered, and that may occupy a lot of time. This is very hard for me, but I think it is important to prepare the field of battle, fill in the blanks from earlier. About nine months ago I applied for laicization. Naturally, the Church resisted ,made it sound like it was all but impossible even and insisted I seek counsel, go on retreat again, and try to renew my vocation. I had no choice but to go along with it, but neither my head nor my heart was in it: no concentration, a stereotypical load of good old fashioned Catholic guilt, as well as a bunch of other things. Huge obstacles I just could't get around. So I did the old English trick: I ran away to sea, and they seemed only too happy to oblige. 'Give it time, and when you get back let's see how you feel' they said. They are going to want an answer, but I'm not optimistic about their reply."

So 'here we are' thought Assumpta. Is this the moment when it all falls apart? "Can't they give you a little time to recover from this ordeal first? Geez, it's all business all the time with them. So that priest this morning ratted you out. If I'm not prying, why were you thinking of giving up your vocation?"

"I still am. I haven't done any pastoral work since I left BallyK a year ago. There are a number of reasons. You remember that whole circus surrounding the sweating statue? That brought to the front a number of the more questionable facets of my vocation, they were an annoyance, but still I could live with, or at least work around those. However, it was becoming obvious that my vocation was the source of increasing stress and dissatisfaction with my life. In short, the price to keep it was presenting a bill I could no longer bear, and that created even more stress and dissatisfaction of its own. I wanted things that I simply could not have. There was no discussion about it. Simply wasn't on, and never would be on if I continued that same path. There was no reasoning with it. It just was and that was it. It wasn't like dealing with the death of a loved one, it was dealing with policy I no longer believed in. I felt like I was suffocating. I was a mess of emotions and confusion, being pulled in every direction. David Gordon was fond of a song called " _I'_ _m Not Waving, But Drowning_." That was how I felt. The final straw, was that just before I left Ballykissangel, I came to the conclusion that I had come between a husband and wife. That was an unforgivable sin. I had potentially ruined, or was in the process of ruining a marriage. I am supposed to officiate and consecrate marriages, not intervene and destroy them. What kind of a priest was I? God might forgive me, but I could no longer act as a priest for the people after that. I felt a complete fraud on a number of levels, and lost all my faith in myself. I knew I had to get out of town. I also knew I had to get out of my vocation. I couldn't stay in either with a clear conscience. No matter what, I knew that to do the right thing, and that meant I had to leave. So I requested a transfer from Father Mac, and he was only too happy to arrange matters.

"Then when I first requested laicization and told the board in Manchester my reasons, they seemed rather dismissive about the whole thing. 'Not a problem, we've seen that, and worse. Repent, you're forgiven, Go back to work.' That is oversimplifying it, but basically that's what they told me. They basically threw me out of the room. And I thought, yeah, I get the whole forgiveness bit, but treating it all like it was just a parking ticket really annoyed me. Why does the Church impose rules if it is so dismissive of them. Seemed like a club of men whose motto was "Do as I say, not as I do." Seemed to me the people, the congregation were being left out of the equation. Weren't they entitled to a priest who actually practiced what he preached? The Church may have been accepting of my transgressions, but I wasn't. I wasn't sure that I would be best serving God if I remained in that cadre. However, I want to play this by the Marquess of Queensbury rules if I can. I really want to take a high road here, I'm just not sure it's possible."

"Wow! Oh how the mighty have fallen. I always knew you were too human and kind-hearted to be a priest."

"Assumpta, don't misconstrue or make light of what I'm saying. There are a great many men wearing the collar doing great works for God and Man, an overwhelming majority of them, in fact. I can't paint with the same brush as you, but I do have more than a little dissatisfaction."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's go back a little bit. Were you meaning, that you came between me and Leo? Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Come on, Assumpta, you remember. Leo accused me one day of being the reason that he was…what was the phrase he used… "on a hiding to nothing?", yeah, that's it, on a hiding to nothing. It was in the kitchen of Fitzgerald's. He was clearly holding me to account for it. Understandably, he was pretty upset about it. I certainly would be."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Peter. You eejit! Is that what you are worried about? Do you feel strong enough for this conversation now? Let's wait a few days. When you're stronger."

"It has to happen at some point, might as well be now."

"OK then, Peter. Let me fill you in on a few things. I never thought I would ever have this conversation with you, but here goes: I'll admit to thinking I was attracted to you when I first met you, the day I gave you a lift in the rain when you first came to town. I was mildly put out that you were English and much more so that you were the new priest. The first bit I was pretty sure I could live with, the second, not a chance. But you grow on people. Like mold. It didn't take very long for me to realize my long-held beliefs were been challenged and discarded. I knew you were out of reach, but still I could't help myself. Anything to keep you around, driving lessons, petitions, whatever it took. The petition had the added benefit of annoying Father Mac. That was a good day." She smiled to herself. "I was in trouble during Padraig's and Brendan's play, real trouble. Luckily for both of us at the time Doc Ryan patched Enda Sullivan up in time to keep me from making a complete spectacle of myself in front of the whole town. I spent twenty hard-earned quid, just to be able to have you spend time with me without raising suspicion. My mind entertained pretty crazy thoughts with that one. It alway's came round to you. There was something there, I was sure of it. I could feel it. It seemed we had reached the rubicon that night we sat in your car at Cill Na Sidhe, but my heart was breaking, and I had to get out and do something. I couldn't take it anymore. I hoped that you would decide one way, but I knew you would decide the other. So I ran away to London and married Leo. You didn't come between us. I put HIM between YOU and ME! I thought that in time he would push you out of my head. For that I will always feel shame and regret. I probably lost a very dear friend. It didn't work, it couldn't work. Even though you never came back, I could never have been satisfied with him. Try as he might, it just wasn't right. I don't know how much of this I could admit to if you hadn't been presumed lost at sea. When I heard that, my whole world completely fell apart. You might not have been in my world, but you were at least in my universe, and then it seemed you left that. I had a hard time breathing in that new universe. I thought of all the time wasted and opportunities not realized. Maybe if I had been clearer it might have removed some of the questions we had back then, but could never voice. I thought that if I ever had the chance to do anything over, I would try to tell you exactly what and how I felt. Not that it would do any good, but we spent a lot of time dancing around the elephant in the room and that certainly didn't do either of us any good. So that is it, Peter. In case your English brain can't process it, this Irish brain will instruct you in three simple words, English words too: I. Love. You."


	12. Chapter 12

A.N. I think I've solved my roadblock a few chapters ahead (had to use dynamite to get through it, so to speak), so I'll present a second helping for today to try and move this along. Please R&R. Thanks.

 _ **12\. What A Fool Believes**_

Peter took all of this in, then seemed to struggle in his bed. Assumpta started to get worried.

"Have you nothing to say about that, Peter?"

"I would give you a hug right now if Sister Chlotilde hadn't tied me down so strongly. I can barely move. Could you give me a hand here?" She did and Peter briefly, gingerly wrapped his arms around her.

"What man in his right mind wouldn't be overjoyed to hear what you just said? I know I am. However, I do need to put all my cards on the table now, so please bear with me for a minute, and excuse me if I am repeating anything. This past year has been my time in the wilderness. I've been wondering and wandering since Father Mac sent me on retreat, even before that if I'm honest. I meant what I said that day in your kitchen. I wanted to be the best priest I could be. I mean, I had made vows to God himself. As much as I thought about you, I knew God had to come first. I went off to the retreat with a heavy heart, but smug in the belief that I was suffering for the sake of God. My feelings for you would be a sacrifice that I would pay willingly, if not gladly. As you left the kitchen in tears, I could plainly see just how high a price that was. It wouldn't be a real sacrifice otherwise; it's not like giving up whistling for Lent. Retreat went well, in that I was able to get control of my thoughts, I felt myself renewed, and looked forward to getting back to BallyK, or so I thought. As I got closer to town, though, my mind began to experience doubt. I was looking forward to testing my new-found strength and resolve, confident that I could just be friends with you, that I had indeed mastered my feelings, but part of me was also hoping to just have you in my sight again. I missed you terribly, and the closer I got to Fitzgerald's, the stronger it became. I wondered whether that was really the way I should be feeling then.

"If finding my house full of half-naked American girls came as a shock, that was nothing compared to the news I wheedled out of Niamh. She didn't want to tell me, but I persisted. When she told me that you had married Leo, I realized that I had built a house of cards. My world caved in around me, and at that moment I had never felt so alone. I tried to reassure Niamh I would keep the secret, but who could I tell? How could I tell anyone without betraying my own exposed soul? Niamh knew how I felt, I'm sure of it, but she was too stunned herself.

"I was a very poor priest from that day forward. I may have looked like a priest, but I sure didn't feel like one or think like one, and the only way I could act like one was to turn myself over to routine. I was on autopilot, saying words but not hearing them, or even really listening to others. Those were actually the good days. Nights were the worst. I knew then that I just wasn't cut out to be a priest, that all my training and years of study were for naught. Things just kept on getting worse for me, and then Leo came at me that day and that was it. I could endure my own torment, but I couldn't ruin your life, marriage, and happiness. As much as I knew I loved you and resented him, I knew I had to let you go, so I called Father Mac and requested a transfer as soon as possible. Whether I remained a priest or not, the answer was still the same, I had to leave Ballykissangel as soon as possible. Father Mac was even more keen on the idea than me, but before he could arrange things, James called me to tell me our mother was dying.

"And as bad as that was, I actually looked upon it as a blessing, no, a respite of sorts. I was able to throw myself into a very serious situation, one that almost completely took all my thoughts and energies. Watching someone you love die of cancer, the almost daily slipping away and fade to black of a life that was so important and central to your own…." Peter began to choke up at the memory. Assumpta reached over and took his hand. "I could feel my life ebbing with hers. That was a very sad commentary on my life at the time, and that knowledge didn't help matters. My days may have had 'distractions,' but the nights were still a torment. Of course, my Mum's illness could only have one outcome, and when she passed I was denied my own grief and grieving by those who needed me to be immune from it. The collar again was preventing me from human experience. I began to look upon it as a millstone around my neck. I still loved God, and was trying to do his bidding, but I just couldn't cope any more. I had hit a wall. There was no way forward, so I had to look for another road or even a footpath.

"Fast forward half a year or so and it was oddly enough while talking to David Gordon on the ship while listening to rock n' roll music that I was able to start seeing things clearer and find some form of peace. He held these "Music Appreciation Sessions" when he was off duty. He would play songs on his guitar, CDs or cassettes and we would talk about their meaning. Sometimes though, we would just listen and commiserate with each other. He spent long periods of time away from his wife (ex-wife actually) and girlfriend. The sea had been the ruination of his first marriage, and his girlfriend was having doubts about his lifestyle. The music was very cathartic. Seems silly, I know, but then and there it worked. He treated me just like anybody else. In fact, I used to work an hour or so a day in the engine room helping out in any way I could. It was a very small crew on that ship, and he always was grateful for an extra set of hands. He was your basic Protestant Scot, so my being a Catholic priest didn't warrant any special treatment. Pretty much the opposite, in fact. He saw me as just another person. That was a refreshing change. "

"What were you listening to?" Asked Assumpta, who was deeply moved by Peter's story.

"Oh, all kinds of stuff, almost anything from the 60s thru 80s and 90s rock and roll. The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Big Country, U2, Queen, The Alarm, to name just a few. David didn't have an agenda, wasn't trying to keep me in the church, didn't want anything from me other than friendship, saw things as they were, so he told me exactly what he thought. I found myself telling him some things I didn't tell the professionals. It took a while to get there but we talked about you fairly frequently."

"Oh yeah? What did he say? Wait, you said priests don't have those kinds of friends."

"Well, I could hardly tell you what was going on in my head back then, could I? Everyone else in BallyK were too close to the flames, as it were. Besides, I wasn't feel very priestly on the ship. Anyway, he said that it sounded like we were made for each other and I was an idiot (the term he used was "spavie") to let you go. That probably anybody could see I was miserable and head over heels in love with you, and that only an Englishman could be so blind to the very obvious, only he used a different vocabulary. Like I said, he treated me just like anybody else. He speculated that although that particular chance was gone, another was bound to come along, and that I better not miss out again. He seemed to think it was my nature, and he had no reservations about kicking a man when he was down. He said that although I was spiritual enough to be a priest, that alone wasn't enough. That I was fundamentally unsuited for the priesthood because I was filled with the 'wrong' kind of love. I must confess, he was willing to dismiss my vows rather too quickly, but he said it was the only way I would find what I was looking for. He said I wouldn't being denying God or Christ like my namesake, only that I was renegotiating my contract with Him, and that I was probably too close to the wall blocking my way and couldn't see the problem for what it really was. I needed someone who could see it in its entirety and define its shape. He was happy to oblige, and made a number of other observations too."

"I think I can agree with that. He sounds like quite a character. I wou…" Assumpta bit her tongue as she realized what she was about to say.

"I began to see the truth in it too. He was a character, you would have liked him and he would have liked you, I'm sure of it. The truth of my vocation, as he saw it, was just an obstacle in my path, something to be negotiated. Like I said, he was a little quick to dismiss it. He said each spike of stress, uncertainty, and doubt was an essential part of the process. That I just wasn't ready until I was ready That those who had counseled me up to that point were in the business of reinforcing those obstacles, and frequently couldn't see the human side of things. He said," (and here Peter affected a thick Scottish accent) "'What bluidy guid would the kirk be if it told it's priests to bugger off?' I had resigned myself to never seeing you again, but you were never out of my head.

"As it became clear things on the ship were not going to end well, I figured that my time on Earth was done. It didn't bother me all that much, in fact, it almost was a relief, but all I wanted was to see you just one more time. Can you imagine my surprise when I woke in this hospital, and who is one of the very first persons I see, but you. I would like to believe that seeing you so soon after waking and my being spared are connected and both happened for a reason. I know David would have said 'I told you something like this would happen.' So that is my last year in a nutshell. Now you know it all, the 'Book of Clifford'. Not very exciting reading."

"Amazing. Don't sell yourself so short. I only have one question for you. I've asked you many times in my head, but I have to ask it out loud now: What do you want?" Assumpta was clearly nervous about his reply.

"Assumpta, for the past three years or more, only one thing has been front and center in my head. One thing, and only one thing: You. I think about you far too much and far too often. No matter how much I have tried to purge you from my brain, and I have tried, for my own sanity and self preservation, it simply isn't possible. There is only one answer to what I want, and that is YOU. I have loved you from the very first minute I saw you, and although it took a long time and an awful lot of heartbreak for me to realize it, I know it to be true."

At that moment James Clifford came into the room. He noticed a very different atmosphere and vibe to the room almost immediately. "What have you two been up to? Sister outside here made it sound like a troupe of gymnasts were running amok in here, either that or this was the local Palais with ballroom dancing. Looks more like some real heavy discussions were going on. What's up?"

"Just having a little heart to heart here, brother mine."

"And is everything good between you two?" he asked cautiously.

"Never better," both answered simultaneously.

The three sat together quietly for a few minutes. Nothing more needed to be said between Peter and Assumpta right now, and they were enjoying a companionable silence. It was Assumpta that broke the silence.

"Um, the _Northern Light_ , the boat that rescued you, Peter, is supposed to leave for America tomorrow. Do you feel strong enough for a visit with the men? There is seven of them."

"For them, I will make time, and find the strength. If they can't come here, maybe I can get out for a few hours to see them. They are probably busy getting the boat ready for sea. Things were always hectic on the ship just before sailing, must be the same for a yacht. Whatever it takes, I would very much like to meet them, and thank them."

"I'll see if I can find the doctor and see what he says." And with that Assumpta left the room.


	13. Chapter 13

_**13\. Lovely To See You Again**_

As Assumpta approached the nurses station for the floor she heard her name called.

"Assumpta? Assumpta Fitzgerald? Is that you?"

She turned to face the young doctor, about her age who was conferring with the formidable Sister Chlotilde. Uncertainty slowly yielded to recognition, and she ventured a tentative "Owen? Owen Kelleher?"

"The same. It's been a few years, but it's still me. What brings you here?"

"Friend of mine. Peter Clifford. He was admitted a few days ago, rescued at sea when the ship he was on sank."

"Oh yes, narrow scrape there. He's a priest, English too. That's unlike you. We're a long way from Ballykissangel, both in time and distance. How do you know him?" The tone was friendly, but she couldn't help but detect a note of cynicism and slight disapproval in his voice.

Assumpta was a little uncomfortable, but answered with only the slightest hesitation. "Erm, he was curate at Saint Joe's for a few years. I'm trying not to hold that against him. Priest or not, he's still a good man, and a good friend."

"Hmm. One of Father Mac's boys." That remark prompted a snort from Asumpta. "Well, time changes us all. Is there anything I can help you with?" This time he took a little more conciliatory a tone.

"Maybe. I have a big favour to ask. The boat that rescued Peter is sailing for America tomorrow from Baltimore. The men who rescued him would like to see him, and Peter would like to see them before they sail. Getting the seven of them here might be difficult and time may be short, but would it be at all possible for Peter to be allowed out for a few hours tomorrow?"

"I would say 'No', but old Doctor Foley is a bit of a softie, and retiring soon. You would have to ask him. Hey, I just thought of something, do you still live in BallyK? Well, Doc's brother is the Garda Superintendent in Cilldargin. Maybe that angle would help."

"Worth a try, I guess. Yes, I still live there, I'm running my parent's old pub."

"No fooling. Small world, eh? Is Niamh Quigley still around?"

"Oh yeah, she married Ambrose Egan about three/four years ago. They have one son, Kieran. Ambrose is the local Gard."

"Good Lord. That has to make life 'interesting'. Please remember me to her, and Ambrose too, for that matter, next you see either of them. Getting back to your request, I would ask Doctor Foley when he gets in in the morning. It can't hurt to ask, what's the worst that could happen? He could just say No."

"Ok, I'll try it. Thanks. So, you're a doctor now. That is a bit of a surprise too. We all were different then."

A nurse walked up to the desk, politely interrupted, saying the doctor was needed elsewhere in the ward. This brought the conversation to a quick end and Assumpta returned to Peter's room. She couldn't help noticing the way Owen Kelleher, Doctor Kelleher treated her just a bit differently when he associated her with a priest, even if he was a friend. She also remembered her own hesitancy over discussing their friendship. Good grief, she thought. If it is this is uncomfortable with someone I hardly know, what is going to be like with those who knew both of us better. This might not be as easy as first thought. She pushed her concerns aside as she entered the room.

"We might just be in with a chance. The doctor on duty right now is an old friend (for want of a better term)" she added parenthetically, "from home. He used to be mad about Niamh. Anyway, he said we need to talk to Doctor Foley, who just so happens to be brother of Ambrose's boss. He did say that it wasn't likely, but why not try."

Early the next morning Assumpta called the Baltimore harbourmaster. He told her that the _Northern Light_ was still there, but planning on sailing on the first of the ebb tide that evening, which would be about 6pm. She asked if he could relay a message to them asking to call her in fifteen minutes at this number. A quarter of an hour later she was talking with Captain Bunker, expressing her hopes that she might be able to bring Peter to see them that afternoon. He said that sounded great, and that getting the whole crew ashore this close to sailing time for even a few hours would be very inconvenient. He was sorry that he would otherwise have to renege on his promise, as the owner was insisting on his sailing as soon as possible. The boat was required in New England for an important and lucrative charter in one month's time.

"Can't ask for any more than that." Assumpta conceded.

Doctor Foley was not surprised by Assumpta's request. Doctor Kelleher had spoken with him when he came on duty, explained the situation, and had even volunteered to accompany Assumpta and the brothers Clifford. Doctor Foley, in return, examined Peter thoroughly, admonished him to take the utmost care, and threatened to set Sister Chlotilde on him if he so much a tried to anything "ambitious." There was to be no ladder climbing, no swinging in the rigging, no yo ho ho-ing, and absolutely no shivering of timbers. Peter felt comfortable with these restrictions, and so at a little after noon, wearing a brand new set of clothes James had bought for him, he was gingerly wheeled out to Jame's hired car, which was roomier than Assumpta's Renault, and they all headed off for Baltimore.

The sun shone down from a cerulean blue sky lightly spotted with small cumulus clouds. It was warm, and a gentle breeze blew out of the South turning Baltimore harbour into a field of glittering diamonds. A beautiful spring day.

As they pulled up to the jetty where _Northern Light_ was docked, Peter was plainly getting quite emotional. The first and last time he had been here he was more dead than alive. In fact, as far as most of his world was concerned he was dead. It was hard to believe it was only a few days ago. Overriding all was that the seven men climbing up off the deck of the yacht had somehow managed to not only see his body atop a palette in a field of debris, but manoeuver this vessel close enough to where his body was drifting to permit one man to jump into a seething cauldron of spume to get a hold of him. That they were able to pull not only him, but his rescuer as well through the intervening fifty feet of flotsam and water, and somehow get them back aboard, all the while dealing with extraordinary weather conditions under sail alone, well, it just beggared belief, and Peter knew that if he lived a hundred years more he could never repay them. He was humbled to just be in their presence. He was at the point of tears and completely choked up when he met James White and Paul Richards. Without the efforts of these two men, even the near superhuman bit of seamanship pulled off by Lynam Bunker would have been wasted.

The crew of the yacht, however, treated him like royalty. They were an easy going group who gave the impression that no greater joy or privilege could be afforded them than attending to Peter. They plied him with gingerbread and coffee as he sat in his wheelchair on the jetty. His name was ceremoniously entered into the ship's log, and photo's were taken, an occasion he stood up for. The entire crew and Peter stood with their back to the harbour, the schooner in the background while James, and others on the jetty clicked away with a camera.

"Assumpta, come here. You should be in this too." Peter called.

"No, you enjoy the moment yourself," she called back.

"No, come on. I want you here with me. Please?" James, who had been standing close to Assumpta, flexed his shoulder nudging her towards Peter. As she moved forward to take her place next to Peter, he handed his cane to James White and put his arm around Assumpta's waist, murmuring 'keep me steady, please. I'm feeling a bit weak." As the last pictures of the group were being taken, Peter's hand slid from her waist and interlaced his fingers with Assumpta's.

As the impromptu party began to break up on the jetty, James White pulled Peter aside and remarked, "you're lucky to have a friend like Assumpta. Are you really a priest?"

"That's what they tell me." A pause, and then a little forlornly, "Yes. I am." This was neither the time nor the place to discuss such matters.

In a wistful tone he replied, "It's just that…." he stopped himself before he embarrassed himself and Peter. "Pity. She's beautiful. She'd make a great wife. Some guy will be very fortunate to end up with her."

Peter turned to look at White. "I'm rather hoping that is the case." With that, he shook White's hand with both of his. "Safe journey. I can not thank you enough for my life. I have a second chance at it now, it is an extraordinary gift. Thank you." And then to the crew at large he called "Please, please let us know by letter, fax, email, or smoke signal, you can even as you Americans say 'call collect' that you've safely arrived home in America. Wherever I am on this planet, you will have a place to stay. I am greatly in your debt, and that no matter how long I live, I can never repay you. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am honoured to have met you. May God bless you on your voyage both across the ocean and through life."

With that Peter had to sit down in his wheelchair, the fresh air, sunshine, and excitement had exhausted him. As they drove back to Bantry, Peter was asleep before they even left Baltimore.

That he woke up screaming just on the other side of Skibbereen, almost causing James to crash into a stone wall, came as a great shock and terrified everyone in the car.


	14. Chapter 14

_**14\. Behind The Wall Of Sleep**_

James pulled over immediately. Peter woke up thrashing about, drenched in sweat, and breathing heavily. Once the car stopped, both James and Assumpta got out of the car and tried to soothe him. All three were clearly distressed. Peter was sitting in the front passenger seat, and with his door open he was able to swing his legs out and plant them on solid ground. To the left the River Ilen continued its slow march to the sea. It was a scene of tranquil beauty completely at odds with the nightmare so recently played out in Peter's head.

"Peter, are you OK? What was it, Bosnia, or the ship?" James asked.

Peter nodded, but said nothing. His breathing was returning to normal, and he held his head in his palms with his elbows on his knees. He looked up and rubbed his eyes, then looked at his two companions apologetically.

"Sorry about that. Too much too soon, I guess. I'll be fine in a minute. Do we have any water?" He took a long pull from a bottle Assumpta had brought. "I think I would like to have a short stroll. Try and walk it off."

He took a about a dozen tentative steps slowly towards the West, stood still with his hands on his hips, and craned his neck, looking straight up. He took a few deep breaths, took hold of Assumpta's shoulder and slowly walked back to the car. He rested his elbows on the roof and watched the traffic for a few minutes, collected his wits and said to James, "OK, I think I'm good to go now."

"I think you should ride in the back. No offense, but your thrashing almost drove us off the road. Assumpta, you better ride in front."

"I will not," she replied a little forcefully. "I can't help him if I'm in front."

"I don't want you to get hurt if he has another episode."

"Guys, I'm still here." Peter interjected, feeling a little left out of the conversation. "I'm fine. I will ride in the back, and I promise not to lash out at you, Assumpta if you ride in the back. I won't be offended if you ride in front either. James, I don't want to turn this into a Whitby. OK?"

"A Whitby?" asked Assumpta perplexed.

"Every year our family used to go on holiday to Whitby. We went by train a few times, but usually by car. Always had fights over who got to sit where. One time on the train we had a knock down drag-out fight that our father resolved by knocking Mr Bossy Pants here and our brother Andrew's heads together. Pretty drastic approach for a GP. Finally calmed them down, he said never again by train, and almost never again, full stop."

"What he's not telling you is that it happened just as we were leaving Middlesborough Station. Peter had been the instigator of the fracas, but Dad only caught Andy and myself, Peter saw what was about to happen, decamped to another seat and put on the innocent act. Dad gave him the best seat for the rest of the trip, and also for the trip home. Came to be known as the Middlesborough Manouever. Probably explains why he supports that team too."

This had been an easy going banter, and had actually helped drain some of the stress from the situation. Assumpta had a grin on her face and said, "That sort of thing won't fly with me, Clifford."

Peter just looked at his brother, sneered theatrically and said "thanks for that. No, really, thanks."

The rest of the trip back to the hospital passed without incident. Doctor Foley met them shortly after their return for a debriefing and an examination. He was concerned, naturally, about the nightmare incident, but in the end admitted that, although worrying, it was outside the purview of the hospital. Medically, there seemed to be little call to keep Peter in as a patient, and that he could probably be discharged the next day. However, he did not recommend any long journeys yet, and advised remaining in the Bantry area for a few days more.

"I'm sorry we can't keep you longer, but there just isn't any need for you to stay in hospital anymore, and we need the bed. I would like you to come back in on Friday to see me, and we'll assess your condition then. I'm sorry to turf you out like this, but your problem is that you're heathy. I strongly recommend you seek help in dealing with the emotional side of recovery. I could recommend someone local if that would help, but don't delay, in any case. Consider today's event a warning, you ignore it at your peril. Speaking of peril, I hear Sister Chlotilde coming, I must visit a patient in the other side of the hospital. See you tomorrow morning." On that note, he left…..in a hurry.

Doctor Foley's hearing was excellent. Moments after he left Peter's room, Sister Choltilde swept in like a cavalry charge. Peter was unceremoniously bundled into the bed, all the while being scolded and admonished for taking foolish liberties with his health, Doctor Foley's reputation, and the Irish Health System. "Rules!" she cried, "Where would we be without them!" She carried on the diatribe all the while she was tucking him into bed.

"Probably having a lot more fun," James said under his breath.

Sister Choltilde looked up and shot him a glare that would have curdled milk. For once the border collie got stared down by the mongoose. "If you're going to talk that way, young man, I will personally see you to the door at the end of visiting hours. I shall speak with Doctor at my first opportunity. Slackness that needs tightening up. And you, Father," she rounded on Peter, "You. A man of God!" She crossed herself. "This is the second time in as many days! What is the world coming to. I thought I'd never live to see the day."

And then she was gone, leaving Assumpta giggling quietly in the corner. "She could give Kathleen a run for her money." she opined.

"Wow. Is that show on every night?" James asked after Sister C had left. "Peter, I have to go back to London on Saturday, there are a number of things happening Monday that I have to get ready for. We can drive to Cork or Dublin after meeting with the doctor on Friday, and fly to Manchester, but I won't be able to stay."

"Or I could take him if you need to leave sooner." Assumpta ventured.

"That's very kind of you, Assumpta, but I'm fine with Saturday, unless Peter wants it differently."

"We'll talk about this tomorrow. Right now I'm tired and will take advantage of my last peaceful night in hospital. James, if you don't mind, I would like to speak with Assumpta privately now. I'll see you in the morning. Good night." And so James took his leave.

"I'm not really that tired, I just wanted to spend some time with just you for a while. I love my brother, but sometimes less is more."

"Peter, this nightmare, was that the first one, or have there been others? And what was that bit about Bosnia?"

"Aside from the first nightmare of the ship sinking? No. Since I've been on land, that was the only one. Bosnia? I haven't had one about Bosnia in months."

"Do you want to talk about what happened, either Bosnia or the ship? You scared both of us in the car today. It sounded like you were being tortured. It must have been horrible."

"Horrible doesn't even begin to cover it. The thing is that while it was happening, there was so much to do, and things were happening so fast that we were too busy to worry about what actually was happening. It was only after it was basically over that it hit me. I don't want to talk about the ship right now, and I don't think you really want to hear about it. Not something that anybody should have to endure. My only hope is that someone picked David up, but it doesn't sound like that is the case."

"What about my offer to drive you to Dublin so you can catch the ferry or a flight home?"

"I know what I would prefer, but I also know what I should do. If I went with you, I might never leave. I would much rather not go to Manchester at all. I would rather stay here in Ireland with you, but there are a number of things that have to be done, and the ones at the top of the list are all in England. I will call you as often as I can, you'll probably be sick of me before you know it. I don't know what will happen when I meet the Bishop, all I know is that I have to set myself on fire."

"Huh?"

"Old saying David used on me. Anyway, I'll see you in the morning. Can we spend some time together tomorrow, or do you have to go back to BallyK?"

"Niamh is watching the pub for me. I'll go back Saturday too, but I wouldn't have missed this for the world. I do love you, Peter Clifford, I know I shouldn't, but we're stuck with it. Make the best of it."

"And I love you, Assumpta. I know everything happens for a reason, and that we are not always privileged to know what that is, but I think I know why I survived when I should have died, and that is to be with you."

After Assumpta left for the evening, Peter examined his life of late. It clearly was in two distinctly different books. The events in each clearly transcended mere chapters in a single book. He began to almost see them as his own Old and New Testaments, but then that comparison got to be more than a little uncomfortable. Comparing his life to the Bible? That would never do. Some of the old ways die hard, some very hard. He wasn't looking for any more death, but a little bit of rebirth, maybe more like a regeneration (to borrow a concept from a TV show of his childhood.) Now that sounded OK to him.


	15. Chapter 15

_**15\. Running Up That Hill**_

"Hi." Peter breathed into the phone.

"Hi. How are you?"

"Well, that is the first step out of the way. I have resigned. Now comes the long process of laicization."

"How do you feel about it? How'd it go with the Bishop? How long is the process?" Assumpta asked in response.

"I actually feel pretty good. All the waiting was getting on my nerves. Neither Father Randall nor the Bishop were very happy about it, but they've been expecting it for months. He's sending me up the chain to the Archbishop of Westminster, only problem is he died a few months ago. I don't know whether that will be a hinderance or not. He did not paint a really rosy picture. I may have to go to London if the interim Archbishop demands an interview. I have no idea how long that will take."

"Remind me again why you don't just resign and leave. Be done with it all? Why jump through all these hoops? You know it doesn't really matter to me."

"It may very well come down to that. I would like to do this as cleanly as possible. I think that if people know the Pope himself released me from my vows, then who is anybody to argue?"

"You're asking me?"

Peter had been back in Manchester for two weeks now, had formally restarted the request for laicization, and had numerous interviews (more like chats) with his old boss, Father Randall, who was in turn acting on behalf of the Bishop of Salford, doing preliminary "investigating" of Peter's "case." Father Randall was a sympathetic ear, and very familiar with Peter's history over the past five years. He had listened patiently many times after his return from Ireland a year ago, and again through the loss of his mother. He liked Peter, and had granted his leave of absence, allowing his sojourns to Bosnia and sea. The wisdom of that decision was now preying on his mind. Something significant had happened on his last trip out to the Balkans (there had been a shooting or a bomb blast), but Peter was adamant he was fine and refused to talk about it, however, he had requested a change of pace, which ultimately led him to his ill-fated sea voyage. That had led to even bigger changes. The man who now sat in the chair next to him was a very different man from the exuberant and energetic young curate who arrived five-and-a-half years ago. He was a very different man from even four months ago. It was in the first hint of premature grey at the temples, the gauntness, the slight arc to his back. However, it was most apparent in the eyes. They had clearly seen too many horrors in too short a span of time, not that any amount of time was appropriate. They were cold, distant, and impersonal, the barometer of a troubled soul.

Their conversation today focused on a newspaper clipping from _**The Examiner**_ and a photograph. Both items had come to the Bishop of Salford from Baltimore, Ireland. The newspaper article was just a recounting of the reunion of the rescuers and the rescued, and also the departure of the schooner yacht _Northern Light_ from Baltimore, County Cork. There was a photograph printed with the article of just the crew of the yacht and the rescued man. The other photograph, however, was the primary focus of discussion. It showed a group of nine people, eight men and one woman standing on the jetty in Baltimore, with a sailing yacht flying the American flag in the background. The photograph clearly marked a joyous occasion, and all the people in the photograph were evidently in a celebratory mood. Most had arms around each other's shoulders, except the tall man in the center who had his fingers intertwined with those of the pretty, auburn-haired woman standing next to him. Remarkably, his eyes shone with an intensity and fervor totally unlike those of the man currently in the room with Father Randall.

"The newspaper story, although bordering on lurid, is innocent enough. A case could be made that the 'reporter' recently celebrated a birthday, and was evidently given his first thesaurus, but the photograph…Father O'Driscoll in Baltimore sent both of these to the Bishop. He said the photographer willingly surrendered his pictures to him, and was not looking to cause a scandal. How many others may have taken a similar photo? Any idea? What were you thinking? You have been very indiscreet, and this won't help you in your quest for laicization."

"There's nothing scandalous in that photograph. I could be holding her hand to keep myself steady. I did arrive in a wheelchair."

"Yes, there is that, but the man next to you is holding your cane."

"Who is to say it isn't his?" countered Peter.

"If I understand the story correctly, the man holding the cane is the same man who jumped into the sea to rescue you. Hardly the action of a man who needs a cane. At any rate, you have to admit, this doesn't look good." Father Randall stated sadly.

"And that is exactly my problem here, Father. Respectfully, I couldn't disagree with you more. What you see in that photograph are two people who are very much in love with each other."

"When I left Ireland last year, neither myself nor Assumpta thought we would ever see each other again. In similar ways both of us were dead, or else were emotionally dead for all that time. Then came the shipwreck. I thought I was actually going to die, and she had no reason to believe I wasn't dead for days. The only reason both of us look so alive in that photo is due to God sending the other seven men and that boat to my rescue. This is a very joyous photograph. I don't have a copy of it, but I would very much like to get one, in fact, I think my brother has some similar ones, which he will get to eventually. I shall treasure that moment for the rest of my days."

"But Peter, is this not the same woman who married another man?"

"Yes, she is. And that marriage was annulled. Truth to tell she only married him because she thought she could never be with me. They had known each other in college, but the relationship just didn't graduate with them. You remember the condition I came back from Ireland in a year ago. I was a complete mess, and torn between her and my vocation. I had recently been on retreat to try to sublimate my feelings for her. I returned from retreat to find her married. That should have made things easier, but nothing could have been further from the truth. If anything, it just fueled the fire that consumed me till was completely burned from the inside out. Father, as I lay drifting on the sea, I welcomed death because I knew that would be the only end to my misery. All throughout that time, however, all I thought about was her. According to my rescuers, when they picked me up I said only one word in my brief moment of semi-consciousness, and that word was "Assumpta". I clearly remember her coming to me in a vision just before I woke in hospital, and I was said to be calling for her as I woke."

"A vision? Or a dream?" asked Father Randall.

"I can't say for certain, but it was quite clear. I wasn't sleeping, I was unconscious. Other people from my past appeared too."

"Did they say anything to you? Were you calling their names as well?"

"I don't think so. It was very strange, but Assumpta told me that it was time to come home. With her, and that I had to hurry before it was too late. At the time I thought she must have been dead."

"Whatever made you think that?"

"I don't know. I just remember thinking, believing, even knowing she was dead. Maybe that was in a parallel universe, and the two worlds intersected then and there." he ventured.

Father Randall frowned at him. "Really, Peter? Parallel universes? You can't be serious."

"I don't know, maybe. It's no more remarkable or outrageous than anything else we call upon people to believe, is it? We believe in this world and the next. Is it really such a reach? I remember thinking, or knowing, that the only way we could be together was if we were both dead. I thought that I must be dying then. But I woke up calling for her. About thirty minutes later she walked into the casualty ward in person, very much alive. I can't help but think that was a miracle, or at least a sign from God that we are meant to be together in this world, more believable than a sweating statue."

"Yes, I remember hearing about that; caused quite a stir. There were a lot of rumblings about that whole show. About a 50-50 split. Some considered it an absence of faith, that your first take on it was to deny the possibility of God's work, others thought, like you, that something fishy was going on. It was an engineered miracle, right?" Father Randall almost chuckled.

"Chip fat put on the Child of Prague statue by two yobs trying to sell burgers and chips. The whole distasteful scenario still doesn't sit well with me. That people were willing to believe a statue sweated, and that the church was willing to try to push it as an act of God for worldly gain. Ugh! I came to see it as praying to false idols, and a means of exploiting a gullible, or shall we say an easily impressionable people. It just was wrong in so many ways. We should be ashamed of ourselves for that fiasco. And after it was over? Not a shred of remorse or sorrow. No contrition, no penance, no apology. Nothing. Swept under the rug, like it never happened. I was ashamed of my faith, and ashamed of how suspicious I became of everybody in town at that time. No: Assumpta walking into the hospital minutes after my waking up is a much more believable form of miracle."

"Maybe you believe that because you want to believe that, and it is convenient, but it doesn't necessarily make it so. The real miracle then was you being rescued by that boat, and I would venture to suggest that when faced with the same outcome to an ordeal like yours, many men would consider joining the priesthood, not leaving it."

"Isn't that what makes us so special and individual? Not everybody will react to the same situation in the same way. Present the same information to a group of people and you'll have many different responses. I believe, with all my heart and soul, that my love for Assumpta is good and pure, and that it is God's will for us to be together. This is not something that just sprang up out of nothing. This was a flower that grew in a desert, despite all efforts to prevent, avoid, and deny it. It grew strong in spite of all the heartache and emotional bloodshed, it was a life force and would not be denied. No matter how much either of us tried to refute it, it simply would not go away. In all the years I've known her I have not so much as touched her, although I did put a plaster on her forehead three years ago. Being apart for a year has done nothing to blunt or dull the feelings of love we have for each other. The only obstacle preventing us from being together is Catholic Church policy. I know full well about that policy, but it is no longer something that I can accept. My belief and love for God is in no way diminished, but I can and will no longer deny my love for Assumpta. If that is a divided heart, then I am compromised as a priest. Since nothing will change that then the only course of action is for me to stop being a priest. I'm comfortable with my relationship with God and Christ. I am uncomfortable with my relationship with the Catholic Church. I can still devote my life to God, but will do it in a capacity other than priest."

"Very well, Peter. Your resignation is noted, but as you well know, that does not release you from the clerical state, nor does it release you from your vows. Whatever His Holiness decides will be communicated to Bishop Tinker, and he in turn will notify you. I have heard the process could take up to a year, but you are very young to be seeking dispensation. I don't believe you will achieve the result you're hoping for. What will you do then? On second thought, best not answer that question, I believe I know the answer already. On a personal note, I wish you well, and God's grace."

The God's Grace bit was lost on a few of the area priests who wasted no time in haranguing Peter at every opportunity. Some were downright vicious, called him traitor, sinner, and defector. To them, Peter had taken the job as foreman of the road crew paving the road to hell. Peter tried to take the moral high ground, and refused to rise to the bait. At least one of his accusers had been involved in a scandal involving a young woman according to parish gossip. If anything, his taunters only reinforced his resolve to be quit of them.

Father Randall forwarded Peter's request through to the Bishop of Salford, who in turn reviewed it before sending it on up the line. Somehow Peter's application slipped through the upheaval in London amid the barrage of daily correspondence, and he received only a cursory glance by a staff preoccupied by other issues. The next stop was Rome.


	16. Chapter 16

_**16\. The Long And Winding Road**_

Peter stood on the upper deck of the _MV Isle of Innisfree_ as she nosed into her berth in Dublin. It was cold on the upper deck, as it was everywhere this December. The sky had been lowering since departing Holyhead, but Peter didn't mind. He preferred to take the ferry when he crossed the Irish Sea. It was a chance for him to observe and reflect, and God knows he had much to reflect on. It was now over half a year since he was first landed in Ireland by the schooner yacht _Northern Light_ of Marblehead, Massachusetts, over six months since his close brush with death, and six months since resigning as a priest. He tried to take stock of the past half-year.

* * *

When he first got back to Manchester his first order of business was to notify Father Randall and the Bishop of Salford that he wished to be laicized. This required his resigning from his duties, but that did not release him from his vow of celibacy.

The next order of business was to track down Janet MacRae, girlfriend of David Gordon, in Dumbarton, Scotland. Here his training as a priest actually came to his aid, but still it was an extremely painful phone call with her. She had just about given up hope that he was still alive. Unfortunately, Peter was not able to help her there, and as he was most likely the last man David spoke to before his death, he couldn't help but feel a tremendous whack of survivor's guilt during and after the call. Janet still felt it was premature to hold a memorial service for David yet, but if nothing was heard from him soon, then plans would go forward. She promised to inform Peter of any developments, and they exchanged email addresses.

He also enrolled in classes at the University level to get both a teaching degree as well as augment his existing skills and qualifications as a counselor. He also sought employment with any charity not involved with the Catholic Church, as they didn't need his heretical views doing their work. Full time employment was hard to find, but he did find part-time jobs with charities helping children at risk and inner city poverty.

* * *

Peter called Assumpta every other day, and on the days he did not call her, she would call him. His first return to Ballykissangel took place in early July, which happily coincided with Father MacAnally's absence, (he was on a golfing holiday with Bishop Costello and a few other friends).

Peter took the train as far as Cilldargan where Assumpta met him, and they had a light meal before driving back. On the way, Peter tried to assess the situation. "So, what is the mood? How many are angry at me? Is there anything I should avoid saying? How much do they know about my situation, or us? I'm more nervous now than when I first came to town."

"Oh relax, will you. You'll be fine. You know everybody, they're all looking forward to seeing you again. Certain details about how I feel about you may have slipped out when you were reported as missing, other details were probably guessed at when I disappeared for about week right after your rescue became known. Niamh knows just about everything, as does Brendan, and you have already spoken to him. I don't know how much they have told others, but it is Ballykissangel. Also, it seems we weren't fooling everybody as much as we thought we were fooling ourselves the past few years. I don't think you could shock them if you tried, and so far, everybody is supportive. I'm still alive. They haven't burned me at the stake yet. So, really, I don't know why you're staying at Brendan's when you could stay in one of the rooms at the pub, it wouldn't be a problem. What's the matter, don't trust me?"

"Oh, I've always trusted you, Assumpta. It's me I don't trust. I still want to play it by their rules, even if they would probably frown on my being here now."

"I'm beginning to get real tired of them…again. For now we play by their rules, but sooner rather than later things better change."

"They will. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"Alright, there's a first time for everything. Are you ready for this?" she asked as they pulled up in front of the pub.

He nodded, got out of the car and they entered the pub. He stepped across the threshold into a sea of kind, loving faces, and a spontaneous round of applause broke out before he was mobbed by handshakes, pats on the back, and hugs of all descriptions. He felt like a conquering hero. They clearly were happy to see him again and he teared up freely. As Niamh came out of the kitchen with plate after plate of food, Ambrose came in from across the way with Kieran, and the party kicked into high gear, as Ballykissangel's long-lost, wandering adopted son was welcomed home.

Later, as things achieved a sort of blissful equilibrium, Brendan again bent Peter's ear. "Are you staying at my place or are staying here? I know what we talked about by telephone, but Assumpta was a little put out you're not staying here. I understand what you're trying to do, and knowing you, you'd prefer to stay at my place, but I won't hold it against you if you don't."

"Actually, I would prefer to stay here, but for now, I think it wisest if I stay at your place. I've resigned from the priesthood, but it's," and here Brendan spoke along with him, "not that simple. I'm still bound to my vows, and until I hear the judgement on my case, I'm honouring them. Nothing is ever easy."

"Not with you it isn't, and certainly not with Assumpta. For the record, I wasn't quite sure just how far things had progressed between you two, but I had faith in both of you, I still do. You're welcome at my house anytime. Also for the record, I think you are good for Assumpta. I've known her her whole life, and I've never seen her act with anybody else the way she acts with you. I'm sure she is dreading what the Vatican will say. What are you going to do if they deny your request?"

"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it, I guess. I'm trying to do the right thing here, but I'm preparing myself for a lot of resistance. All I know is that my greatest hope is to be with Assumpta, and I mean to do that, no matter what the Pope says. It's always nice to have approval, but it's not necessary. If it comes to it, I'll just flat-out leave the church. I can go to any church that believes basically what I believe. That bit is simple. If I can't take communion in a Catholic service, the C of E and the C of I probably will, and that is enough for me. You gotta have faith sometimes."

"Good man. Here is a spare key. You know where the guest room is. Let yourself in and out as you like. I have Aisling tomorrow. Siobhan will bring her by in the morning, she has to see to some cows on the other side of her practice. Aisling's looking forward to meeting her 'Uncle Peter.'

As the evening wore on, the festivities and celebrants had dwindled to just the regulars, and it was a time for introspection. It was Donal, oddly enough, who asked the first serious question.

"So did you lose everything when the ship sank, Father?"

"A real Zen master of sensitivity and tact, you are, Donal." chided Brendan.

"Donal, please just call me Peter. I am in the process of resigning from the priesthood, I've sort of been in the process for about a year now, but some things have prevented me from getting very far along with it." Although everybody had heard the rumors, this was the first time that it was confirmed first hand. There were a few slightly wider glassy-eyed responses, and a scattered quick intake of breath, but generally everybody had had some time to adjust to the idea. They had decided long ago that one Peter Clifford was a decent man, even if English, and that they weren't going to hold him responsible for his place of birth. "But to answer your question, Donal, everything that I had with me was lost. I even lost the clothes on my back once I got to the hospital. My worldly possessions meant very little to me. As a priest I never had much, and always traveled light. I lost nothing there I couldn't easily replace, including almost thirty pounds. However, I did lose a very dear friend, who so far has not been found or reported found. He was a Scotsman and the Chief Engineer who did more to sort my mind out than a number of professional counselors and therapists. He can never be replaced. On the other side of the ledger, I gained extraordinary and unimaginable wealth. I was given a second chance at life, and have renewed and strengthened my friendship with Assumpta, and now all of you. I never really thought I would see any of you ever again, and to just be here right now is a greater privilege and treasure than I deserve.

"I also recently got an email from one of my rescuers, saying that they had an uneventful crossing, but were a little disappointed that they could not stay in Bermuda for long before heading back to New England. They got home safely and it seems that the owner of the yacht has put the crew up for the Carnegie Lifesaving Medal. If ever any one deserved it, those were the guys. Without them, I would not be here today, I would have lost everything." That drove the point home for everyone, and although he was no longer a practicing priest, he did lead a very brief prayer of thanks, and even Assumpta joined in at "Amen."

It was Padraig who asked the big one that no one else had the nerve to ask. The villager's all suspected the reason, but were quite surprised by Peter's reply.

"Lots of reasons, really. The big one was that I came to the conclusion, that although I had a certain amount of success as a priest, it was the wrong line of work for me, and that I probably should never have been ordained in the first place. Sometimes we make decisions in good faith at too young an age, or without some critical piece of information, so basically everything you do after that is essentially wrong. I know of a number of my friends from home, who have found out that although they were good at what they did, discovered that it was the wrong job for them. Don't get me wrong here, I loved being a priest..your priest, and maybe I was acceptable, for the most part. But the handwriting was on the wall. I was doing the wrong thing. I haven't lost my belief in God, maybe it has gotten a little less complex and structured, but I still believe as strongly as I did before. I just can't do the priest bit anymore. I firmly believe God has a different plan for me, and at this point I just hope the Pope shares that view. It's too early to tell you about it in detail, but I will when I know more. I'm sorry if I let you down as a priest, but I hope to never let you down as a friend, and I hope to be spending a lot more time here in the future."

This little speech prompted another round of hugs, bonhomie, and alcohol. Shortly thereafter the gathering began to break up. The sun would rise again in a a few hours and life would, as it usually did, move on.

* * *

The next time Peter visited Assumpta, Brendan was away at a seminar in Dublin. So Peter decided to risk things by staying at the pub in one of the guest rooms. He spent a pleasant and peaceful few days walking the hillsides by day and helping Assumpta in the pub at night. One evening, Niamh watched the pub and gave Assumpta the night off. She and Peter went to dinner and a movie in Cilldargan. There was a pub across the street from the cinema and live music could be heard as they walked to Assumpta's van. Something about the tune sounded familiar to Peter, and so they stepped in to listen for a little while. The band was a four piece consisting of guitar, bodhran, Uilleann pipes, and violin. The next song was a slow number, and the piper traded his pipes for a guitar, the violin slowly arced over the guitars and the vocal kicked in softly yet urgently:

 _You've got everything I want_

 _You've got everything I need_

 _Maybe we'll go out walking tonight_

 _You've got everything I need_

 _I know you would be so warm_

 _I want you to keep from harm_

 _Maybe we'll go out driving tonight_

 _Maybe it wouldn't be so wrong_

 _All the seasons rushing over me_

 _All the secret wounds that bleed_

 _All the seasons rushing over me_

 _Takes me further from my need_

"This is one of the songs I listened to on the ship with David. I remember the lyrics, and how much they made me think of you. I heard this playing in my head as I was drifting on the sea after the ship sank."

Assumpta was very moved to see tears streaming down Peter's face, and her heart ached for him. "Shall we go? Is it causing you too much pain?"

"Yeah, OK. Brings it all back to me. I loved this song. It made me think of you. This is a bit different from the recorded version. They're doing it justice though, but maybe it is a little too soon to be hearing it again, but yeah, let's go."

"Peter, any time you feel you need to talk about it, you know I'm here for you. You know that, right?" Assumpta gingerly rubbed his back as they covered the last few steps to he van.

"I know." Peter responded. "It isn't pleasant listening. It was a horrible experience."

"It doesn't matter how terrible it was. Well, that doesn't sound right. It does matter. But no matter how awful it was, I want you to know that I want to help, so don't hold back on my part. I want to help you shoulder the burden. You know, a trouble shared, and all that."

He stopped and turned to face her and enfolded her in a hug. "It's no wonder I love you Assumpta. No wonder at all."

It was also no wonder that he woke up screaming at 2.30 in the morning.

As soon as she heard him start screaming, Assumpta leapt out of bed and ran down the hall, pausing only briefly to knock on his door and call out Peter's name. She entered the room and found him sitting upright in bed, crying, breathing heavily, and drenched in sweat. She sat on the bed and pulled him to her, cradling his head on her shoulders as she ran her hand up and down his back all the while trying to soothe his troubled soul with gentle murmurings. His response was immediate. He wrapped his arms around her and hung on for dear life. Eventually his breathing became more regular, his death grip on her loosened and he backed away and looked at her.

"I'm sorry,"he mumbled. "I'm not a very considerate guest."

"Shh. It's OK, it's OK," she kept repeating.

Peter looked at her in the dim moonlight still streaming through the window. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He pulled her back in close and kissed her at the base of her neck, then slowly worked his way upward. He backed off again, and then closed in on her mouth. As their lips met he knew, finally knew, that he was home: where he belonged.

For her part, Assumpta was surprised to find that she was suddenly kissing Peter. Surprised and delighted. The fire of passion that for so long had been like a dormant volcano showed unmistakable signs of returning to life. However, this was a time for compassion and not passion. She broke the embrace, and as much as it pained her to say it, said, "Peter, we should stop now. I thought you wanted to wait."

"I don't really want to, but this is, this is…" He was at a loss for words, blissful? wonderful? glorious? sublime? None seemed adequate. And yet…"You're right, I know what I said, but I just love you so much I couldn't help myself."

"I know," she said and smirked. "Here's an idea, come back to my room and sleep with me for the rest of the night, and I mean sleep. I think I can keep my hands off you, but I don't think I can promise you total abstinence. How about we give it a try?" This brought a soft chuckle from him. "What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing, really. I made the same sort of suggestion years ago to Ambrose. Move in with Niamh, and do all the things married couples do, just leave something out. Brian really didn't like that idea."

"If you mention Brian Quigley even once in my bed you will be barred. Is that understood?" she retorted with mock gravity. He nodded sheepishly. "OK then. Let's go, this bed is terrible. I'll have to replace the mattress."

So they retreated to the warmth of Assumpta's bed. Safely in her arms he began to tell her every detail of that fateful storm and it's extraordinary aftermath. She never interrupted him, and he kept talking for well over an hour. As four A.M. approached he finally reached the end and he quietly fell asleep in her arms, with his head resting on her chest. After he fell asleep she gently kissed the top of his head and nodded off herself.

And that pretty much marked the end of the nightmares of the loss of the ship. Waking up in Assumpta's bed was bittersweet. Peter was greeted with a hot cup of tea and a tender kiss from Assumpta and a cold, slobbery nuzzle from Fionn, who had come upstairs along with the tea. He now knew that this was where he wanted to be and who he wanted to be with forever, but also that he would have to go back to England in a couple of days.

"I could get used to this," he glibly remarked as Assumpta sat on the bed.

She smiled at Peter and scratched Fionn's neck. "You don't have the time for that right now, it is almost ten and soon I have to start getting ready for the lunch crowd. The never ending march of commerce," she added.

"No, what I mean is that I could get used to spending all my time with you. I want to spend all my time with you, and look forward to when that will be possible. I always thought it would be wonderful, but I had no idea it could be this good."

"I can think of one or two ways it could get even better."

"How could it possibly get better than this?" Peter asked innocently. "Oh!" he exclaimed and blushed deeply as his brain finally let in its clutch. "Yes, I imagine that would take it to a completely different level." He took a sip of his tea then put his cup down on the bedside table. He seemed nervous as he asked, "Is that the direction you want to take things?"

Assumpta contemplated a glib, sarcastic reply, but sensed Peter's anxiety. "Of course. I think it would be the natural progression of things, don't you? Peter, you know that I love you. It's what people who love each other do. Well, most of them do. I have no idea what soon-to-be-ex-priests do. I won't rush you, but when you are ready, just say so, and I'll probably tear your clothes off with my teeth."

Again, Peter blushed deeply. "Um, they think pretty much along those lines too, but they do face a few difficulties. I won't lie to you. Ever. I've thought about it. A lot. An awful lot. Probably more than the average man, and way more than any priest ever should. I'm very close to being there now. I'll let you know when to see your dentist."

This caused a giggle, a few deep kisses, and a brief tussle on the bed before a chorus of loud barks from Fionn broke up the fun.

* * *

Peter made a third trip to Ballykissangel in early August, and this time stayed at Brendan's, much to Assumpta's chagrin.

"I have to do something that is kind of important this time he said. I can't put it off any longer," he had said over the phone. "I have to pay a visit to Father Mac. I know you don't like it, but I think we actually need him either as an ally or at least as a non-belligerent."

Assumpta returned with an acidic, "Whatever. I don't need him at all."

He approached the Parish House with no small amount of trepidation. His knock on the door was received by the housekeeper, who showed him into Father Mac's study. This is where this odyssey all began, Peter thought.

For his part, Father MacAnally received Peter civilly but without warmth.

"Well, home is the sailor, home from the sea. You are looking well. How are you?" He asked cooly.

"I am well. And how have you been?"

"Fine. Now that we've gotten the civil greetings out of the way, what is it that brings you here?"

"I felt I owed you the courtesy of a visit. I may be living in the area again before too long, and just thought I should check in, as one of your future parishioners. Will I be welcome in your church?"

"Well that all depends on what the Vatican says. If you are granted dispensation then I am hardly one to overrule the Pope. However, if you are not granted dispensation…I don't think that would convey the right message to the congregation, do you? You are out of grace, living in sin, and unable to receive the sacraments."

"We are all sinners. My faith in God and Jesus as Christ and Savior has in no way been diminished. I just have profound issues with some of the Catholic church policies."

"Thank you for Christianity 101, Father Clifford, and you still ARE Father Clifford, don't you forget that. I don't understand you. You had such high potential. You were a popular priest, not that that is any yardstick to measure things by, this is not a popularity contest, but you seemed to reach the people, and if you are seen to have turned your back on the church, that is not something they will take lightly."

"I never became a priest for advancement within the church. I wanted to serve God by helping others, I'd like to think I was and still am a man of the people. I can still do all that, but I don't need to do it as a priest. My 'potential' as you describe it, is just as high as before, maybe even higher. Since I last spoke with you I've been in war zones, abject poverty, and adrift on the sea for a day and a half. I've seen the power of God first hand, stared death in the eye more than once, and I believe that the course I'm on now is not only good for me as a person, but it is the one God wants me to follow. I am not here to compete with the church, make waves, or rock the boat. I just want to live in peace with the woman I love, and if God sees fit, raise a family. How can any of that be wrong? Any answer other than "Not at all" are either personal or bureaucratic. If that's the case then this conversation is at an end. I do not consider you an enemy, and I would like to think you would treat Assumpta and me the same."

"You made the most solemn vows a man can make to God." Father Mac retorted, a little surprised by his former curate's direct approach. This was a new Peter Clifford, and he wasn't getting as much traction with this one.

"Yes, I did, and even you would agree, that although I was, as you say, popular, there were many times when you thought I really shouldn't be a priest. You weren't alone in that view either. We both agree that complete honesty is the only way for a priest, right? I could no longer be an effective Catholic priest, for many reasons. It was best I step down and out. In hindsight, I should probably never have been ordained. I was fundamentally unsuited for that responsibility. It took a long time to figure that out, but I know it to be true."

By the time Peter got back to Ballykissangel, he had cooled down, and also was completely spent. Assumpta greeted him inside the pub, away from prying eyes, with a tender kiss. Since that night earlier in the summer kissing had become commonplace, and both found it a rewarding experience.

"So how was Old Blood and Guts?" Assumpta asked.

"A year away hasn't made the slightest difference…I don't know, fine, I guess. The usual is more like it. If the Church ever wishes to advance these days they will have to move away from his type. Anyway, I don't expect him to change. I went seeking a nonaggression pact, if not acceptance, but I'm not sure either was on the table."

"I could have told you that when you first got here. In fact, I think I did. Four years it took for it to sink in. No one said you were the brightest spark, did they?"

He grimaced at her, then said, "I need to have a lie down for a little while, OK if I lie on the sofa for a little while?"

"You're welcome to my bed if you want, but there won't be any entertainment. I have to cook."

"Give me forty-five minutes and I'll give you a hand."

"If that's the offer, I could use a little lie down too. Come on, Sparky. Let's go."

Forty-five minutes later Peter concluded that going to sleep next to Assumpta was the next best thing to waking up alongside Assumpta. His imagination ran with that idea in the fields of his mind for a little bit, and it wasn't long before it dug up other ideas as well. Then his conscience stepped up, yelled at his errant imagination, and they all went back inside for tea and maybe a cold shower.

* * *

Towards the end of the summer, Assumpta came to England for a weekend. Together they took the train to Scotland for David Gordon's memorial service in Dumbarton. The service could easily have been a somber testament to a life extinguished in its prime, but David Gordon had been such a life force, that it instead was a celebration of a life lived to the fullest. Captain Chilton was there as was Neil Cosgrove, the second mate, late of the _MV Estrellita_. He had given up sailing deep sea, had taken a job with Trinity House in London, and was playing music in clubs during the evenings a few days a week. Peter had a long tearful talk with Janet Macrae, David's girlfriend, and there was an instant rapport between her and Assumpta. Promises to remain in contact were made, and Peter departed Scotland with a heart a little lighter than the one with which he had arrived.

* * *

There then came a time Assumpta referred to as the Dark Ages. Peter was summoned to Rome to meet with the board of Cardinals adjudicating his case. This surprised Father Randall, as he seriously thought Peter's case would have been dismissed out of hand. Nevertheless, Peter dutifully traveled to Italy, was no heard from for weeks, and was back in the UK a month later.

"Well, what happened? Do you know anything yet? How did it go?" Assumpta was all questions.

"No decision yet. The Cardinal wanted to speak to me in person because he had heard of the shipwreck, and so wanted to hear more about it from me. The whole experience was rather surreal. I told them everything: my disagreement/disillusionment with large parts of Catholic dogma, the whole fiasco over the sweating statue, my disappointment over reactions to my initial request for laicization, my trips to the Balkans, the whole sinking, rescue, and recovery bit and how I looked upon the whole situation as a miracle meaning that our being together was blessed by God himself. At one time I think I childishly argued that if the Church was willing to accept a plane crash as the will of God, how could they look upon my case as anything else. Anyway, it has been referred to the Pope for a final decision. They had no idea how long it would take, but he usually made his mind up quickly, and it was almost always a denial. I don't know, Assumpta, I think I have a positive feeling about this, but I don't think it'll be as soon as they think. Christmas and Epiphany are coming, and the Pope will be very busy. To say nothing of this not being a typical New Year's Eve. Middle of January is the earliest, I think."

"Don't tell me," she said skeptically, "you're a man of faith."

"That's right, sometimes you just have to believe."

* * *

And so here he was in early December rattling down the Southeast coast of Ireland on the 2.10 out of Dublin. It had been an eventful year, and as each time the train squealed around a curve or through a set of points, it brought him that much closer to the greatest gift of all. It had always been Assumpta. He knew that years ago, just as clearly as he knew it now. Peter could hardly believe his good fortune these past six-plus months. What a change from the preceding four years. There was only one final tumbler to drop into place, but that one thing loomed large in both their minds.

Although there was no formal declaration of their "being an item" to the town, only the very obtuse might think otherwise. Peter's year-plus absence from BallyK softened the talk of scandal just a little. When pressed, both (although Assumpta was loathe to admit anything to anyone) cited their new mantra that near-death experiences clarified the mind wonderfully, implying innocence and purity in deed, if not in thought, during his years as their priest. Not everyone bought it. Not by a lorry load, but enough did to smooth out a few of the nastier pot-hole on the road to happiness. The biggest hole in the road naturally came from across the road, and it was one day that Peter returned to the pub following extremely icy negotiations for a simple chocolate bar that he finally cracked. "Good grief! That old harpy is more lacking in common Christian charity than anyone since Tomas de Torquemada!" he railed. "She is mean as a snake! I'm sorry, that just slipped out."

Assumpta just smiled quietly to herself, and said, "Don't be. There may be hope for you yet."

Peter grimaced. Thought for a moment, then wondered aloud, "There will always be resistance to us here, won't there."

"So far, there is nothing to resist. We are as pure as the driven snow. Oh wait, you're still technically a priest. Now I see what you mean." she added sarcastically.

"I know, I know. As soon as I hear something things will change."

"They better. A girl can only wait so long you know. I think I only have maybe five more years of waiting left in me. If I didn't know better I would buy you a pair of thick wool socks. You know, for cold feet."

"Oh, so you think it's a case of cold feet, eh? Let me tell you something, Assumpta. My feet are so hot right now that I could burn this place down in a nanosecond, I'm surprised I'm not scorching the floor and setting my boots on fire. My love for you burns with an incandescent fire that could melt a glacier in minutes, and if I seem like I'm dragging my feet waiting on the Vatican, its because I've never felt anything this strong for anyone in my life. I love you so much I don't know what do. It's not a case of…" Peter was interrupted by his mobile ringing. "Excuse me just a second, I have to take this one. Hello, Peter Clifford here…..yes, Father Randall?….I see…oh, okay, yes, I can be there tomorrow. Can you tell me what…no, I understand. Yes, thank you Father. See you tomorrow at 11AM." He terminated the call, then turned to face Assumpta. "That was father Randall. The Bishop wants to see me tomorrow at 11 AM. Seems like word has come down from on high. I'm sorry, Assumpta, but I have to leave now to catch the night boat. I have to get to Dublin as soon as possible to make the boat, or plane."

"I'll drive you, Niamh should be able to cover for me. What'll it be? Airport or docks?"

"I think it'll have to be the ferry. I don't think we can make it to the airport in time. It won't be a comfortable night, but I stand a better chance of kipping on the boat. I have about four hours until the boat sails."

"Call the ferry and book a ticket, then we'll have a quick bite, and then leave. Let me call Niamh."

And so a few hours later Peter found himself walking up the gangplank to board the boat back to Holyhead. He had never been so nervous in his life. Saying good bye to Assumpta hours after arriving in Cilldargan had been very difficult. Each parting was getting harder to deal with. No matter what decision the Pope came to, he would still have to make these crossings until either his courses were done, he could transfer to an Irish College/University, or could find a job that would take him with his existing credentials. But that was playing further back in the orchestra, the big news awaited him late tomorrow morning. He spent the crossing alternating between prayer and listening to a tape on a walkman.

 _How did we come from that to this_

 _How did we fill the emptiness_

 _Where did we learn to cry and kiss_

 _And melt into strawberry ice_

 _We melt just like strawberry ice_

Ironically enough, the next song on the tape was _**God's Great Mistake**_.

Songs quoted:

Big Country: _Everything I Need, One In a Million_


	17. Chapter 17

_**17\. Two Hearts Beat As One**_

Assumpta had arrived back in town just as Niamh was closing up the bar. Brendan was still in residence, and seemed to be waiting for the landlady's return. Together the three of them made short work of the clean up. Assumpta locked the door, poured two glasses of wine and a pint of stout, and the cabal settled into discussion.

Brendan led things off with, "You OK, Assumpta? Peter has no idea what the decision is, does he?"

"No, Father Randall would not say, but you know how these priests are, thick as thieves, and always plotting." It was plain to see that Assumpta was anxious. "What am I going to do if the Pope refused him? What's he going to do?"

"You can only worry about yourself, Assumpta. Peter is a big boy, you don't need to worry about him. He will be back no matter what. I know it. Depend on him." Brendan tried to sound reassuring.

"I know he's told me all along that if it comes to it, he would just leave the Church, but he's always been so damn pious, I can't help but worry when it comes down to the wire. I mean, he had no hesitation getting Father Mac's knickers in a twist, but the Pope''s? I just don't know. This is the Big Time."

"He's a good man. Trust him." Again, Brendan the quiet pillar of strength and reason.

"He is a good man." Niamh offered. "It's taken me a long time to adjust, but now that I know what to look for, and am not quite so self-absorbed in myself, I see you two for what you really are. That man loves you, Assumpta, like nobody else I know. You can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, it's in the way he walks, breathes, lives. He lights up, the both of you light up whenever the two of you are together. I don't know how I missed it all those years."

"It was there then," Brendan interjected. "It was heavily masked, but it was there nonetheless. Only once or twice did we really see it out in the open. Usually, it was just a case of sad puppy eyes. You could tell he was miserable alot of the time, and you?" he looked at Assumpta, "You just got meaner, but it was plain to see that your heart was aching. I watched the both of you at the battle of the bars. Hearts were on sleeves then. Painful to watch."

"And when you came back after Leo left. You were pretty upset that Peter was gone, you let it show then. I didn't see it for what it was then, but looking back on it, I should have known. There were so many other things going on then. Boy, was I thick or what?"

"Go easy on yourself, Niamh. You didn't see it because you didn't want to see it. Not your fault at all. I didn't have a dog in that race, so I watched it all over the rim of a pint. It was all there, but our two upstanding citizens here were fighting every impulse every minute of every day. Models of self-discipline and self-control. I'm only surprised neither of them cracked. You didn't crack, did you, Assumpta?" Brendan teased. "I wouldn't blame you either way."

"Why do I not have a tea towel with me when I really need to throw one?" Assumpta countered. "We may have cracked, but we didn't break. Nothing happened. Not even with that damned play of yours and Padraig's. God! That was torture. There was like this unwritten rule that we never spoke about it directly, all the times we talked around it just made things worse."

"He hasn't proposed, has he?" Good old Niamh, ever the pragmatist. There was a hint of bitterness, which Assumpta put down to her being out of the loop if the answer was affirmative.

"Not as such, no." Assumpta was relieved to catch the slight exhale of relief from Niamh, and hoped her supposition was correct. "You'll know when that time comes, if it comes. We've talked about being together as a couple, and a life together, but so far, no official proposal, and no jewelry. I haven't been pushing him for it either. I'm still surprised I have seen as much of him as I have."

"And just how much of him have you seen?" Brendan and Niamh asked together, smirking at each other the whole time.

"Oh, would the two of you just bog off? Grow up!" Assumpta retorted.

"Easy, Tiger. It's only a bit of fun to lighten the mood. He has always been a straight shooter. Probably waiting to make an honest go of it. If he gets released I expect he'll move very quickly, even if he doesn't, I think he'll be quick to act. I wouldn't be surprised if he has a ring already. What's he going to do for a living?"

"He's been taking classes to get certified in teaching and counseling. I know he wants to help around the bar, but I don't think he'll do it full-time. He has a couple of part-time jobs in England, but they don't pay well, and don't put heavy demands on his time. He said he has a sum of money he inherited from his mother, that he's used to living at the poverty level, so he feels he can wait for the right job."

Assumpta yawned, and emptied her glass. The others followed suit, and the session was over.

"Thanks for being so supportive, you two. It means a lot. Fingers crossed for tomorrow. Good night."

"Let us know what happens when you know."

"I will." She gave each a hug as she let them out into the cold night. She turned out the lights, took Fionn out for a last quick walk, then wandered up to her bedroom, wondering what the morrow would bring.

* * *

Time hung heavily on Assumpta's hands that morning. Noon came and went, and with it no contact from Peter. One PM slid by too, as did two o'clock. In fact it was on towards four o'clock before the telephone jangled into life. She pounced on it like a hawk on a mouse, "Fitzgerald's" she croaked into the receiver.

"Hi. How are you?" Peter said evenly.

"Never mind me, how did it go?" she said impatiently.

"Not bad." He was obviously torturing her now.

"Quit playing with me Peter, what's going on?"

"Oh that, have you been to see your dentist lately?"

"What? Oh! You mean, you got…?" excitement rising.

"Unbelievably, yes. Both Father Randall and Bishop Tinker are in a mild state of shock about it. Neither thought the Pope would have granted it, but he did, and you want to hear the really crazy part about it? I am dumbfounded by the whole thing, there were two letters that I had no knowledge of submitted to the Bishop along with my paperwork. You'll never guess who they were from, never in a million years."

"I have no idea. Just tell me."

"Well, one was from a very unlikely source, fairly near you. None other than Francis Patrick John MacAnally of Cilldargan, County Wicklow, Ireland. Can you believe it? The other letter is very spooky. Apparently, David Gordon wrote a letter to the Bishop of Salford and mailed it from the Azores, anticipating my case by weeks. That was a risky thing to do, but he was always nudging me along. Turns out he had a dark secret, he had attended divinity school for a short while before beginning his sea career. He never told me, the sneaky bugger." Assumpta nearly fell over at that revelation, and at hearing Peter use such vocabulary. "Anyway, we were all in shock about the whole thing, that it took at least an hour to recover. I couldn't even find my way home. I was floating above the street, singing, shaking everybody's hands….they must have thought I was completely round the bend. I felt like Ebeneezer Scrooge on Christmas morning after the visits from the Christmas ghosts."

"Wow! Just Wow! Father Mac? Are you kidding me? I don't think I have had this much of my world turned this far upside down in one year, but for this? I'll turn the rest of it upside down too. I just might kiss the Old Sod next time he comes in here. He gets his own bottle of whisky, that's for sure, maybe even a crate."

"The next clergyman you kiss better be recently laicized. I'll catch the first plane out in the morning, and hopefully can be there by lunch. Can Niamh cover for you, and we celebrate with dinner in Cilldargan?"

"She will or I'll just close up shop for the night. I can't believe it. Is this really happening?"

"It better be. I'll call you when I have the arrangements all set. Only problem is I can't stay more than a day or two. I have to get back for classes at the beginning of the week."

That night there was a mild celebration in Fitzgerald's. Aside from Assumpta, Peter's laicization was an abstract news item. They were happy for him, in that he was keenly seeking it, but they weren't extrapolating any further developments, and without Peter to hand, it was deemed worthy of a toast, but not much else. But Peter had been right, if the Pope saw fit to release him from his vows, the people of Ballykissangel were in no position to contradict him. Assumpta didn't share the knowledge of Father Mac's role in the ordeal, and the man did not come into the pub all evening.

The next day was one of the most perfect days Assumpta had experienced in over a year. She awoke early from a dream-filled sleep, some of which had left her weak in the knees. A brisk walk of four miles over the hills with Fionn, and a simple breakfast of tea, toast, and jam put her in a good mood. Peter had called from Dublin at nine saying he would be at Cilldargan train station about an hour and a half later.

She arrived at Cilldargan Station to find Peter standing off to the side talking to three people, she leaped out of her van and threw herself at him, caring nothing for whether anybody approved or not. It was a little ways into the kiss when she heard the music. There was a single guitar and a single voice later joined by two other voices that formed into a nice tight harmony. Peter backed away from her a little, pulled a small box from his pocket, and sank to one knee.

 _I may not always love you_

 _But long as there are stars above you_

 _You never need to doubt it_

 _I'll make you so sure about it_

 _God only knows what I'd be without you_

"Assumpta, I've been waiting for this moment for over three years." Here the singers stopped singing, but hummed the melody, so as not to interfere with the spoken word. "I've rehearsed it in my mind, and practiced it more than I did my sermons. I'm so giddy now, I forgot all the words I meant to say. All I can say right now is that I love you more than I ever dreamed possible, and would do do me the great honour of marrying me? Please?"

"Yes! Yes! Of course, yes! A thousand times yes!"

He placed the ring on her finger, then picked her up a gave her a single twirl and buried her in a kiss. The street musicians were smiling broadly as well, and a small audience that had formed on the pavement watching the developing tableau burst into applause, and wished the couple well.

 _God only knows what I'd be without you_

When they got back to the pub, Assumpta hung a sign on the door saying the pub was closed for lunch. Shortly after that, they discovered that Assumpta did indeed have a remarkable set of teeth.

Song quoted: Beach Boys: _God Only Knows_

* * *

And here it may end. I apologize for the silliness at the end, and for sort of pinching the ending of _**Love Actually.**_ I was originally going to use _**Walk Forever By My Side**_ by The Alarm, but I figured it would be too obscure to readers, Assumpta, and possibly Peter as well, to say nothing of the buskers hired by Peter to provide the soundtrack to his proposal. I thought about other songs, but like Richard Curtis said, _God Only Knows_ is really the only choice. This whole saga has been heavily influenced by music. I once contemplated challenging people to pick a song, or title of a song and write a story based/inspired by it. That would have meant I had to go first, so if you feel inspired... In this work each chapter was inspired by the title, if not content of the song of same name. The entire work was inspired by a song by my favourite band (Big Country) who recorded a song entitled _Second Time Around_ (lyrics below) If you wonder what it sounds like, it is on YouTube. There is only one recording known, and it has a technical fault in it, but the song is a beauty by the incomparable late Stuart Adamson:

 _I walked out where the summer fields were green_

 _And I thought about the road that I had been_

 _All the beds I made_

 _All the plans I laid_

 _When you look back on your life with just a dream_

 _I am one of many passing through_

 _This I can see clearly to be true_

 _But if we are part of a grander plan_

 _Then I hope my place is standing next to you_

 _And the second time I_ _'_ _ve asked you_

 _I will never let you down_

 _There will be no fear_

 _There will be no tears_

 _Second time around_

 _Laid there with the warm sun on my face_

 _And I let it to take me to another place_

 _I was by your side_

 _And you were my bride_

 _And the distance was diminished by your grace_

 _I am one of many passing through_

 _I can see this clearly to be true_

 _But if we are part of a grander plan_

 _Then I hope my place is standing next to you_

 _And the second time I_ _'_ _ve asked you_

 _I will never let you down_

 _There will be no fear_

 _There will be no tears_

 _Second time around_

 _And the sun was hidden by a summer storm_

 _And the sky cried out as if some beast were born_

 _And I felt so small_

 _Hardly there at all_

 _And the rain that ran right through me felt so warm_

 _I am one of many passing through_

 _I can see this clearly to be true_

 _And if we are part of a grander plan_

 _Then I hope my place is standing next to you_

 _And the second time I_ _'_ _ve asked you_

 _I will never let you down_

 _There will be no fear_

 _There will be no tears_

 _Second time around_


End file.
